A Friend In Need
by StonedCoyote
Summary: A fledgling Periphery state, with a short but troubled history, comes to the aid of a larger neighbour, beset by financial, political and military turmoil. In the process they attract the attention of a mysterious power from the Deep Periphery.
1. Answering the call

**Foreword**

Hi there. This is my first story submission here, although I actually wrote it around 4 years ago. It is nearly all my own work, although the Outer Colonies (another Battletech "fan faction") make an appearance, courtesy of JA Baker, whose work you may be familiar with. All OC characters and units mentioned are of his creation...thanks JA! The Royalist Alliance and some of its characters also feature, courtesy of James "Biggles" Taplin.

For a number of years, we used to frequent a Battletech message board called the HPG Uplink, which sadly went off-line in April this year. During that time, apart from participating in dogpiles and swapping insults with the other posters, we wrote fanfics, which were generally well received. A couple of years ago, we came up with the idea of creating our own factions, as we were unhappy at the direction the Battletech universe was heading (i.e. the Dark Age). In the process we wrote more stories and began co-operating on some. This story and it's sequel are the result of that.

* * *

_Royal Brighton & Hove Golf Course,_

_Sussex,_

_Britannia,_

_Britannic Coalition,__ The Periphery,_

_7th August 3068_

The persistent ringing of his personal com unit distracted Regent William Sandringham from his tee-off. With a sigh of annoyance, he plucked the unit from his belt with his free hand; on seeing the caller's ID code, his eyes widened in surprise and apprehension. Apologising to his playing partners, he excused himself and strode briskly from the fairway, his seven-iron tucked under one arm. When he was sure he was far away enough for privacy, he punched the button to answer the call. On the small display screen appeared the worried face of Prince Maxwell D'Avion, ruler of the neighbouring Royalist Alliance. Apparently, his friend had decided to pay him an unscheduled visit and William was keen to find out why.

"Will, thank god! I was beginning to think you weren't going to answer".

"Max, what the hell are you doing here…and why didn't I know about it in advance?"

"Sorry Will, but my head of security insisted that my visit should be strictly covert…a black ops type of thing. If the wrong people back home knew about it, they could use it to stir up even more trouble. I contacted your offices as soon as we arrived in system, explained our situation and the reason for our being here and they agreed to keep it quiet. As far as anyone knows, I'm just a junior diplomat, visiting some of your advisors and catching up on palace gossip".

"Well, someone from my office is going to get a rocket up their backsides for not informing me of your arrival", said William, still slightly peeved.

Maxwell D'Avion's face was a picture of contrition, "My fault again, I'm afraid Will. Or rather the fault of my chief of security…I think he's even more paranoid than I am, lately".

Sandringham's expression was one of amusement, "Well, that's what you pay him for, isn't it?"

The other man nodded ruefully, "He didn't want anyone outside your personal staff alerted to my presence, by formal announcements or any unusual actions on your part…sudden changes in your schedule – that sort of thing. We decided we would be less likely to attract unwanted attention with a personal call, while you were out of the palace".

William glanced quickly round the course. Apart from his group, there were few other players around and no-one seemed to be paying him any attention.

"Well, congratulations, your plan worked perfectly".

"I'd have been very disappointed had it been otherwise, given the amount of trouble we went to. I hope my arrival hasn't come at a bad time, but I'm really not sure who else I can trust right now…"

William pulled a face and waved his club at the camera built into his com unit. "Well, since you undoubtedly checked my schedule with my PA before you called, you'll know where I am and what I'm doing. You just distracted me from a very important tee-off at the 17th that could decide the outcome of the game, but other than that, nothing major".

Max rolled his eyes. "Hope you haven't got too much staked on the game, because what I'm about to say might ruin your putting. You remember what we spoke about, during your last visit?"

William's demeanour instantly became more sober. "Of course…you still haven't found the source of those leaks?"

Max sighed heavily and shook his head. "RIS have their best officers on the case, but so far…nothing. Whoever it is, they're doing a damn good job of covering their tracks".

"What can I do to help?"

Max leaned forward over his desk until his face almost filled the screen. "Are you alone right now? Can anyone hear us?"

William glanced across at the others, who'd clustered around the cart carrying the drinks and snacks. They paid him no attention whatsoever. "Its okay Max, we can talk".

Maxwell closed his eyes, as if hoping his problems would disappear along with his vision. "You remember I told you about the trouble the Ministry of Defence were having with some of our less reliable units? Well, it seems to be getting worse. Not only are some of them refusing orders, but some are actually going rogue and carrying out raids…on the people they're supposed to be protecting! Their grievances I can sympathise with, but their actions are totally indefensible. I would like nothing more than to be able to give them what they're due…and more, but we're facing difficult times, as you're probably aware..."

"Us too…and pretty much the rest of the Periphery, if the reports I'm seeing are at all accurate", Will nodded in sympathy.

"As if that weren't bad enough, my chief of staff is seriously considering deploying the few Regiments who remain unquestionably loyal, to deal with the turncoats. I have to say, I'm finding it increasingly difficult to argue with him".

Sandringham shook his head, "I hope I never have to make such a decision, but I'm sure whatever you do will be for the right reasons".

"Business with the Lyrans, our principal trading partner has all but dried up. Inevitably, we've had to cut government spending…including the Ministry of Defence budget. Because of the time they've taken to re-allocate their funds, many units have been receiving their pay late…in some cases not at all. Add to that rising rates of equipment failure and a lack of replacements, because they can't afford the maintenance and most people would call that sufficient reason for dissent in the ranks. Now, to cap it all, they've got our intel services going through their bases with a fine-tooth comb, looking for "traitors to the Alliance". That was probably the straw that broke the camel's back. Before that, the trouble was limited to protests, dissent, petty theft and vandalism. Now sections of the civilian populace are starting to take sides on these issues. I don't want to sound melodramatic, but I think we're on the verge of a civil war".

D'Avion leaned back in his chair and stared at his desk. "In a nutshell, the Alliance armed forces are in turmoil right now. We'd be hard pressed to defend ourselves against anyone who fancied a piece of us, never mind exploring to look for new resources".

Sandringham smiled at his friend's language to describe the planned raid on Gilfillian's Gold, a mineral-rich world on the edge of the Rim Collection, a small state, comprising half a dozen worlds, which lay less than a hundred light years, spinward of the Alliance. With a small population, little advanced technology and only a token military force, the Regent could see why it presented such a tempting target. Although highly unethical, it would be a quick and easy way to boost the Alliance's flagging economy…one of the few remaining options, once normal trade revenue streams had dried up. At least on a world as sparsely populated as Gilfillian's Gold, the consequences of such action were unlikely to be far-reaching.

"Well, I suppose you'll just have to put your search for new wealth on hold for a little while".

"If only it were that simple Will. Recon flights by our navy have picked up increased activity on The Rack and Pain". He stared into the camera again. "RIS uncovered evidence that details of our operational plans have been leaked. Now we're learning through naval com intercepts that the pirates that hide out on those rocks are planning strikes on a number of our border worlds. I'm guessing they don't like the idea of us muscling in on their territory".

"What in Blake's name…? Sounds like you could have a number of moles, spread throughout your command structure…perhaps even a cell of enemy agents".

"That's one of the theories we're working on at the moment…it's the one that bears closest scrutiny so far. If correct, it's going to make our task harder by several orders of magnitude".

"Not necessarily…if you can nab one, you may be able to "persuade" them to reveal the others. Have your people got any likely suspects…psych profiles…motives…?"

Max spread his arms helplessly. "We've got all our intel and police agencies going over unit rosters, personnel files and piecing together every shred of evidence we've got…which isn't much. Every alley we've run up so far has come to a dead end."

"Sorry to hear that…what can we do to help?"

"Well, I probably shouldn't ask, but I can't see any other options. I was wondering, what shape is the BCAF in at the moment?"

That got a laugh. "Well, pretty good I suppose, for a military that's yet to fight more than the odd border skirmish".

The Prince looked so crestfallen that Sandringham felt obliged to cheer him up. "On the other hand, I've been receiving excellent reports from Precentor-Commander Jackson about the Britannia Guards. Our mercenary friends have been working with them, over the last year or so, to develop their strategy, tactics and general battlefield awareness. They're a strange lot, these Coyote Cavaliers, but their liaison, Captain Jerricho, has been quoted as saying the Guards' performance is 'adequate'". William chuckled. "Apparently, coming from her, that's high praise".

"Does your chief of staff feel they would be up to a long distance deployment?"

"I don't know. I'll have Jackson speak to the Guard's commander. If he's satisfied with their progress, I don't see why he wouldn't authorise their deployment. How does a full combined arms Division, with warship support sound?"

"Right now – I'll take whatever I can get", D'Avion replied, managing to look both relieved and embarrassed at the same time. "Normally, pirate attacks wouldn't be anything to worry about, but right now, I can't be sure if the units we sent to deal with them would end up defecting, going rogue or simply disappearing".

"Okay, I'll start making some enquiries at this end. It would speed things up a lot if our troops could cut through Alliance space. If you could arrange…"

"Already on it, Will. Unless you hear otherwise, from me personally, in the next few days, my chief of staff will contacts yours with a list of systems, jump points, recharge times etc. in the next week or so".

The ruler of the Royalist Alliance stared solemnly up at the Regent from the com unit's view screen. Thanks William. If there's ever anything…"

"Don't worry", William smiled as he cut him off. "I'm sure an opportunity to return the favour will present itself in due course". He waved his golf club again. "Right…got a game to finish or else my Chancellor and Home Secretary stand to win five hundred C-bills. Should be done in half an hour or so…where are you?"

"Your staff put me up in one of the guest suites at the palace…very nice it is too".

"Okay, I'll meet up with you as soon as I'm through fleecing my Chancellor and Home Secretary".

Prince Maxwell D'Avion just shook his head as he cut the link, "Have a good one Will".


	2. Operation Interdiction

_Parliament House,_

_Westminster,_

_Britannia,_

_Britannic Coalition,_

_9__th__ August, 3068_

The Speaker of the House rose as the clerk handed her the card with the results of the vote. "The Aye's to the right, 14…the No's to the Left, 7. The motion is approved by a two-thirds majority".

There were muted cheers from one half of the chamber and grumbling from the other, but Sandringham knew it was mainly for the cameras that recorded and broadcast such events for the public on CBC's Parliament channel. Since the Regent was supposed to remain politically neutral, he'd had no part in the process. However, that hadn't stopped him using his connections to sway one or two of the more easily influenced planetary governors. He'd observed the proceedings from a discrete vantage point in the chamber's public gallery, which was largely deserted.

He punched some buttons on his personal com unit to call Precentor-Commander Robert Jackson. After a few moments, the screen lit up, filled by the expectant face of his Chief of Staff. "Good morning, sir. I take it you have good news?"

"I do indeed, Rob. Operation Interdiction is a go".

The Precentor-Commander nodded, his face set with a look of professional determination. "Very well, sir. I'll inform Precentor Bainbridge at once".

Jackson cut the link and William suddenly realised, with that simple exchange of words, he'd committed hundreds of men and women to a military action against a little-known enemy with uncertain consequences.

In his seat, high up in the public gallery, he sighed as he watched a number of the planetary governors exchange knowing nods, winks and, in some cases, rude gestures as they filed out of the chamber. Too subtle to be spotted by a layman, it was obvious to anyone versed in politics, that deals had been brokered, favours called and strings pulled in order to swing the vote. It was a hell of a way to run an empire. As head of state, William Sandringham technically ruled the Britannic Coalition, but in reality, that job was generally left to the individual governors, since they were best placed to serve the needs of the people. As such, the Regent's main job was to act as ambassador for the Coalition, forming alliances, signing treaties and trade agreements and generally ensuring the future safety and prosperity of the state.

As Regent, he did have executive powers that could be exercised as and when he saw fit. He was only too aware, however, of their double-edged nature. Use them wisely and to the benefit of the state and he would be seen as a great ruler. Misuse them and bring trouble to the Coalition and he'd be kicked out of office so fast, he wouldn't know what hit him.

He sighed again. Sometimes he envied the likes of Sun-Tzu Liao and Theodore Kurita, who ruled their domains with total authority. But as always, he was reminded of the old adage that power corrupts, while absolute power corrupts absolutely. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out what absolute power was like…he worried about the kind of person it might turn him in to.

* * *

_Office of the Regent,_

_Blenheim Palace, Westminster,_

_Britannia,_

_Britannic Coalition_

William Sandringham leaned back in his chair and regarded Prince Maxwell D'Avion, who occupied one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, with a solemn expression. The atmosphere in the office was very different from their informal get-together the previous day.

"Well, Max...Parliament approved the deployment. I had to call in a few favours, but in the end the governors decided that maintaining good relations with the Alliance was worth the price".

D'Avion returned his friend's gaze with equal gravity, "I am indebted to you...and the men and women who serve to protect the Coalition. I know there will be a price to pay...I sincerely hope it is not too high".

William gave a wry smile, "My Chief of Staff is sending one of our best units. The majority of the troops served in the Com Guards and have combat experience, so I have no doubt they will be able to handle themselves. As I said before, the main problem is that none of our units has seen recent combat against anything other than the odd bandit force. We enlisted the services of a highly regarded mercenary unit to whip our greener units into shape and provide stern opposition in exercises. Still..."

"I know what you mean", D'Avion nodded thoughtfully, "There is no substitute for the real thing". His expression became quizzical, "A mercenary unit, you say? Thats fairly...unorthodox".

"I know. It was Precentor Commander Jackson's idea. Our academy is as new as the majority of our military. Although the instructors can provide a decent standard of training, he felt it important that our troops learn some of the more important things that don't get covered in the training manuals. The mercs have an impressive record and fought a number of engagements during the FedCom Civil War among others. They also provide credible opposition, even for our best units".

D'Avion nodded approvingly, "I like the way that man thinks". His face took on a puzzled expression. "Precentor Commander? I wasn't aware Comstar had created a new rank".

William smiled, "They haven't. The rank for Comstar's head of the military is still Precentor Martial. We felt there should only be one and besides, we don't have anyone to compare to Anastasius Focht. Out of respect, we decided on a new title for our Chief of Staff".

Maxwell nodded again, "So, do you plan on contacting them...letting them know you're out here?"

"Maybe one day...when the time is right..."

* * *

_BCS _Indefatigable_,_

_Zenith Jump Point,_

_Montgomery,_

_Britannic Coalition,_

_10__th__ August, 3068_

In the _Indy's_ briefing room, Adept Dixon Lotoure and Precentor Philip Bainbridge addressed the Britannia Guards' senior officers. Also present was Captain Alannah Jerricho. The commander of the Coyote Cavaliers' Bravo Company, who had also been acting as the Guards' training officer, had insisted on the mercenaries' presence on this mission, to oversee their charges and monitor their performance on this, their first major engagement.

"Ladies and gentlemen", Bainbridge began. "For our inaugural mission we are going up against Pearson's Predators…possibly the most bloodthirsty bunch of pirates in the Inner Sphere". He noted the worried looks shared by some of the more junior Guardsmen. "But don't let that put you off. They're nasty and they're numerically superior, but from what little we know about them, their loyalty and fighting spirit tend to be proportional to the amount of booty they're fighting for…and inversely proportional to the strength of the opposition. I think they'll be a different proposition when faced with a large, well-trained force of professional soldiers". He glanced across at Alannah. "Captain Jerricho and I have been impressed with your performances in training so far. Now you get a chance to put everything you've learned to the test". He stepped back and allowed Jerricho to take his place.

The mercenary commander stepped forward and began to speak, without referring to any notes. "Our latest intelligence estimates put the Predators' strength at two regiments. However, their forces are divided equally between The Rack and Pain, so we will not be outnumbered in any one engagement. The RAAF have provided us with data from their surveillance missions, which has enabled us to determine the most likely location of the pirates' base of operations on each world. In order to minimise the chance of mistakes, the battle plan is a simple one. Our aim is to eliminate these vermin, or at least destroy them as a credible fighting force. However, they have strength in numbers and we do not have the resources to fight a prolonged battle, so our plan is to hit them hard and fast before they have time to organise themselves".

She nodded to an aide who stood by the room's projection unit, who switched the device on. On the white display screen behind her appeared video footage, shot by a remote-controlled probe. The picture showed an unremarkable orange-and-brown planet, viewed from space.

"This is The Rack…a hot, arid world with few natural water sources. Average daytime temperature is 42 degrees Celsius, dropping to around zero at night". She pushed a button on the projector's remote control and fast-forwarded the footage as the probe drew closer to the planet and began descending through its atmosphere.

"The RAAF picked up significant electronic emissions from the southern continent and directed the probe accordingly". The video showed the probe flying over rocky desert terrain, through deep, boulder-strewn valleys and across wide, open plains and dry riverbeds. She paused the playback as a collection of buildings came into view. There was a single, large, solid-looking, weather-beaten structure, surrounded by a number of smaller ones, sat atop a large hill or plateau, surrounded by a large depression that suggested a lake had once existed there. The site overlooked what appeared to be a small town, situated close to one of the planet's few rivers. The terrain was markedly greener here - suggesting the locals had managed to start some kind of agriculture.

"This plateau is the most likely location of the Second Predators' base of operations. However, a direct assault on the base would be futile, given its commanding position. Instead we will make our drop ten kilometres to the north, putting this line of hills between us and keeping the combat area well away from the town. We expect that the Predators will behave in typical pirate fashion and react aggressively to our landing. This should make our job a lot easier". She advanced the footage to the drop zone and clicked a few more buttons, superimposing the intended force deployments onto the terrain.

"In order to reach us, the Predators will have to come through this canyon, forcing them to concentrate their forces in one area. We let them make it all the way through, then III Alpha will charge their centre hard and fast, causing as much chaos and confusion as possible. III Bravo and Gamma will then sweep in from the flanks, which should force them to divert their firepower three ways and enable us to overwhelm them. As a precautionary measure, the Cavaliers' Bravo Company will deploy in reserve".

At that, Precentor Bainbridge shot her a hard glance, which she sensed but did not acknowledge. "As I said before, our primary purpose is to observe…however, should there be any unforeseen difficulties, we will be there to assist".

As she stepped down, Adept Lotouré took her place. "We will be making our initial jump from here to Black Isle in the Royalist Alliance. From there we will make a series of further jumps through their territory, using a chain of recharge stations to replenish our jump drive, allowing us cover the distance in half the normal time. From there we'll be going through uncharted territory as we skirt round the Rim Collection. Our first drop-off point is The Rack. It's defended by the Second Predators…a newer unit led by Pearson's second-in-command. According to intel, this should be the easier of the two targets and represents the best opportunity to test ourselves in a real battlefield scenario. Once we're done there, we head for Pain. This will be a tougher fight…the First Predators are led by Hillard Pearson himself, a real nasty piece of work. If even half the rumours are true, I strongly suggest you don't allow yourselves to get left behind there. Apparently, if they take any prisoners they…"

"Thank you Adept", said Bainbridge, stepping forward and politely ushering Lotouré to one side. "Ladies and gents, this concludes our briefing. Your unit commanders will supervise your training and brief you on your specific roles within your units. Please direct any further questions to them in the first instance…dismissed".

The room erupted into a low buzz of conversation as the Guards filed out to begin preparations for the mission ahead. Bainbridge pulled Jerricho to one side, as she was about to leave. "Just what do you think you're playing at? That wasn't in the mission plan!" he hissed.

Alannah, unaccustomed to being manhandled, glared at him. "I assume you are referring to my decision to accompany the Guards on the mission?"

"You know damn well that's what I mean! What's the matter – don't you trust them?" Don't think us Periphery types can live up to your high standards?"

Alannah yanked her arm from the Colonel's grip. "For your information..._sir_, I expect the Guards to acquit themselves perfectly well. However, this is their first real combat and I cannot be expected to just stay here and watch the battle unfold in a holotank".

Already regretting his outburst, Philip began to apologise. "I'm sorry. I've read your MRBC file and I know the Cavaliers are rated as an elite unit...currently third in the performance category behind Wolf's Dragoons and the Kell Hounds, if memory serves...and you've never been out of the top five since the unit was founded. I...we all appreciate what you're doing. Its just..."

Jerricho nodded, her annoyance abating somewhat. "I understand, sir. I also appreciate that you are a veteran officer and that it cannot be easy to accept help from mercenaries".

She turned away and stalked towards the door, before speaking again. "Having overseen their training for the last twelve months, I have something of a vested interest in the Guards. Their performance will reflect not only their own ability, but on my ability as a training officer". With that she disappeared from sight.

Philip stared at the empty doorway in surprise. In the year he'd spent working with her, that was as close as she'd ever come to making an apology and admitting that she cared about her work. _'Maybe the Ice Maiden has a warm heart after all…'_ he mused.


	3. A Close Encounter

_Nadir Jump Point,_

_The Rack,_

_Uncharted System,_

_The Periphery,  
_

_24__th__ August, 3068_

Space distorted, stars wavered and disappeared and the heavily modified, Quixote Class frigate _Indefatigable_ exited from hyperspace. Three Starlifter class dropships and a single Overlord C class vessel hitched a ride on her retrofitted docking collars.

The twelve week journey through the Royalist Alliance and Rim Collection had been uneventful, save from one encounter with an Alliance naval unit that had challenged them, as the_ Indy_ jumped into the Rostock system. Some frantic negotiation between her skipper and the commander of the Alliance force had been required, to prevent them firing on the Coalition vessel. In the end their passage had been delayed while the Alliance commander had contacted his superiors to confirm the legitimacy of their presence. To combat boredom, stress and anxiety and to guard against complacency, the Coalition unit commanders designed routines to keep their troops working on their physical fitness, ran battle scenarios on the simulators to test their teamwork, leadership and general combat abilities. They also made full use of the warship's limited R&R facilities to help avoid burnout.

During the last week, as they'd passed through the Rim Collection's border into uncharted space, the training intensity had been ramped up, to try and fully prepare them for the harsh realities of combat. The _Indy's_ commander had also had the ship's crew working with the troops, as well as running their own battle drills. Even so, they were not prepared for what happened next.

Less than a thousand kilometres away, the Essex class destroyer _Odin_ made a similar entrance – in space travel terms, a near miss. The spatial distortion caused by hyperspace travel, commonly referred to as the "jump wave", sent shockwaves through the _Indy's_ hull, causing minor outbreaks of alarm and confusion throughout the ship.

"Jesus Christ! Red Alert - all hands to battle stations! Weps, ID that ship – until you do, treat it as a possible hostile". Precentor Juliet Arden, the _Indy's_ commanding officer rattled all this off even before her navigation officer could report the other ship's appearance. Klaxons began sounding throughout the ship and the normal lighting was replaced by the eerie red glow of the battle lights.

"Sir, the War Book says she's the _Odin_ – an Essex class destroyer belonging to the Outer Colonies".

"What the hell are the OCDF doing out here?" Arden wondered, her heart rate beginning to return to normal. "Okay, go to Yellow Alert – keep all hands on standby. Comms, hail them. I want to know their intentions and what the hell they think they're playing at, jumping in so close behind us". She frowned at the viewscreen as she paced up and down, waiting for the link to be established.

"Sir, we've got the Odin's CO on visual".

The screen was filled with the image of the _Odin's_ bridge. Standing in the foreground was a surprisingly young-looking woman, whose uniform nevertheless marked her as the ship's captain. "This is Captain Elizabeth Gideon of the OCS Odin". Although her face showed little in the way of emotion, her voice betrayed a certain amount of nervousness. "And who might you be?"

Arden's eyes narrowed slightly and she registered with some disappointment that the _Odin's_ skipper was both younger and prettier than she was. Still, she probably had the edge when it came to military experience. "I'm Precentor Juliet Arden, commander of the Coalition ship _Indefatigable_ and I'd like to know why you thought it was a good idea to jump in system, almost right on top of us. Your sensors must have picked up our entry IR signature, surely?"

Gideon's face coloured slightly. "My apologies, Precentor Arden, but we're running a little short-handed at the moment and don't have a jump-qualified navigator, so I performed the calculations myself. It's not something I've had to do for a while, but I judged the safety margins to be adequate".

Arden frowned. "Well, you managed to scare the hell out of me and my crew. We were ready to open fire until we ID'd you".

Gideon looked genuinely shocked. "You weren't expecting us?"

"Should we have been?"

"Negotiations between our respective governments have been ongoing for the last week. It was agreed that the OCDF would deploy a unit to Pain, to act as an auxiliary force, during the Coalition's operation against these pirates. You were not informed of this?"

Arden made a face. "This is all news to me…although I can't say I'm entirely surprised. There are holes in our command loop like you wouldn't believe. This is the first time we've embarked on a long range deployment and we're still finding out what works and what doesn't. Long range HPG comms are proving trickier than we'd imagined".

Gideon nodded sympathetically. "Took us a while to establish reliable long range comms too. So, now we're here, how may we assist you?"

"That depends…what are you carrying?"

"Well, we've got elements of the Pathfinders with us – they're a heavily armed, highly mobile recon unit. They could scout the landing area and find favourable battlegrounds. They could even help put a dent in the pirate forces for you".

"I'll patch you through to Precentor Bainbridge. He's leading the mission and will have the best idea how to use them".

Later, in her quarters, Arden received a call from the bridge. The comms officer sounded apologetic at having disturbed her. "Ma'am, I have a call from Captain Gideon of the Odin, requesting to speak to you. Shall I put her through?"

Arden saved and closed down her logbook. "Go ahead". The face of the OCDF captain appeared on her computer screen.

"Precentor Arden – I hope this isn't inconvenient".

"Not at all – what's on your mind?".

"Well, Precentor…"

"Please…call me Juliet when we're speaking privately".

"Thank you, Juliet. Please call me Elizabeth. I just wanted to inform you that Precentor Bainbridge decided that since you want to make your first strike against the pirate stronghold on The Rack, the Pathfinders would be best employed in scouting the First Extractors' base on Pain. We'll be jumping out of system in the next two hours, once your Tactical Officer has uploaded the probe data to us. We'll have to recharge once we're there, so maybe we'll have a chance to talk again after you've taught those scumbags a lesson here". Gideon looked away from the camera, seeming uncomfortable.

"What's the matter Elizabeth?"

"Well…its about my…um…infringement when we arrived in system. I was just wondering whether you were planning on filing an official complaint?" She looked rather worried now. "It's just that I'm two months into my first tour of duty and…"

Arden was reminded of herself during her first command and decided to cut the younger skipper some slack. "Don't worry about it - I may well have done the same thing in your shoes. No real harm was done…just get someone to check your calculations next time".

Gideon looked relieved and smiled broadly at Arden. "Thank you Precentor Arden, I'll be sure to".


	4. On the Rack

_10km north of pirate base,_

_High Desert,_

_Southern Continent, The Rack,_

_The Periphery,_

_24__th__ August, 3068_

The quartet of dropships burned through The Rack's thin atmosphere. To an untrained observer on the ground, their drive flares and the atmospheric friction generated by their passage, made them look like a slow-moving meteor shower. Inside half an hour, the three Starlifter craft and the Overlord touched down on a low, rocky plateau, whose gently sloping sides led down onto the sandy, scrubland that was a common feature of this part of the planet.

The BCAF 110th Division, more commonly known as the Britannia Guards, swiftly disembarked from the trio of Starlifters and formed up into their component Level III units. The Guard mechs were decked out in the Coalition desert camo scheme of sandy brown, with reddish-brown, dark brown and white flecks and black tiger stripes. The unit insignia, which featured a white silhouette of Tower Bridge in the raised position, with a sword, blade up between the two open halves, set on a royal blue shield, adorned the torsos and legs.

Staring out of his _Valiant's_ cockpit viewport, Precentor III Philip Bainbridge surveyed the terrain, noting with some satisfaction that it matched what they'd seen on the reconnaissance probe recording. Just over a kilometre away, almost directly ahead of them was the canyon they expected the pirates to emerge from. Stretching away for several kilometres on either side was a range of low hills. Although they were easily traversed in a battlemech, they would slow down an attack and make the pirate mechs easy targets_. No, the canyon is the most direct line of attack…and the one they'll most likely take_, the commander thought to himself. _Pirates aren't generally given to subtlety_.

He set his radio to the regimental command frequency. "This is Broadsword to all units, commence deployment".

Behind him, III Alpha formed up in line with the distant gully. III Bravo and III Gamma moved out east and west respectively, until they were out of sensor range, hidden by the plateaux and rock formations that dotted the landscape.

High above the dusty plain, Leftenant Cressida Davis guided her _Red Kite_ LAM in racetrack patterns above the drop zone. Her eyes flicked between the view outside the cockpit canopy and the monitors displaying the readouts from her mech's sensor suite. From her lofty position she caught intermittent glimpses of the settlement and the pirate base, but she was relying on her radar, mag-res, or EM sensors to detect any inbound hostiles.

* * *

_Devil's Canyon,_

_High Desert,_

_Southern Continent,_

_The Rack_

"General" Springer Macready brought his 100-ton _Pillager_ assault mech to a stop at the southern entrance to the chasm that ran through the mountains, which they'd named Devil's Canyon. He scanned its steeply sloping walls anxiously, alert for the possibility of an ambush. He activated his external mikes and scanned his sensor readouts, looking for any sign of the intruders. Macready had been a mere Lieutenant when he'd left the employ of the armed forces of the Circinus Federation, but he figured if Hillard Pearson, who'd been his company commander, could set himself up as a king, then a four star rank was the least he deserved.

_Damn Pearson to hell! _He thought furiously. He couldn't remember how many times he'd argued for a listening post to be set up on the moon, to give them advance warning of visitors, welcome or otherwise. The Predators could certainly afford to invest in satellite and surveillance technology, but Hillard had just laughed at the idea that anyone in their right mind would attack them here. Instead, news of their unexpected guests had arrived from a panicked sentry, who'd almost wrecked his _Swiftwind_ scout car in his haste to get back to the compound, having tried to call in, only to find the vehicle's radio was broken.

He shook his head. This was no way to run an army. While individual mech pilots tended to keep their machines in good order, using their share of whatever spoils the Predators took from their raids, those further down the pecking order were left to fend for themselves. It was small things like this that could prove costly in the end. He shook his head again to clear his thoughts and focus his mind on the mission. He had a whole regiment of mechs at his disposal to make sure whoever it was had the balls to invade their turf, would pay dearly.

He checked his radio was set to the regimental command channel. "Predators, advance!"

Macready slowly throttled his _Pillager_ up to its top speed and heard a great thundering sound through his external microphones as the rest of the regiment began moving again. He wasn't happy about having his entire command bunched up in the canyon, but it was either that or spend hours trekking round the hills, during which time the enemy could have plunged straight through Devil's Canyon and be headed for the base.

* * *

_Britannia Guards' LZ,_

_High Desert,_

_Southern Continent,_

_The Rack _

Leftenant Davis was just completing another sweep over the Guards' landing zone, when her threat indicator began beeping urgently. Overlaying her radar display onto a digital map of the terrain, she saw a large number of red blips, which had to be the leading elements of the Second Predators, emerging from the mouth of the canyon ahead. She wasted no time in calling it on.

"Raptor One to Alpha Command, contact at Zero One Zero, one thousand metres!"

"Copy that, Raptor One, Alpha is moving", came the response. Davis recognised the voice as belonging to Demi-Precentor Kiera O'Reilly, the Guards' executive officer.

O'Reilly switched her radio to a private channel with Precentor Bainbridge. "Sir…?"

"I heard. Looks like its game time". He switched his radio to the command channel. "Okay Al, time for your boys and girls to put on a show".

Demi-Precentor Alan Osborne smiled at that. "Roger that, sir. We'll make sure it's a good one". Switching to the Level III command frequency, he ordered his troops to move forward. "Cardshark to all Tigers, disperse by unit and begin a slow advance to nav point Bravo".

In response, III Alpha, known informally as the Huscarls, formed into six Level II units of half a dozen mechs each, dispersed in a pre-planned formation across the plain and began moving on the pirates' position. Behind them, the Cavaliers' Bravo Company began to disembark from the dropship _Prairie Hunter_, forming up by unit and dispersing into nearby rock formations, from where they could both defends the landing zone and come to the assistance of the Guards, if necessary.


	5. Outside Intervention

_OCS_ Odin,  
_Pirate Jump Point,  
Pain System,  
The Periphery,  
25th August, 3068_

"Skipper, Coms. We're receiving flash traffic over the secure circuit". The voice shook Captain Elisabeth Gideon from her daydream, "It's from Commodore Ross on the Idun".

"Very well". Gideon looked round the bridge to see if any of her subordinates had responded, "Bring it up".

"That's a negative, Captain. this is a Code Ultraviolet message".

Gideon felt her blood turn into the same liquid helium that cooled her ship's hyperdrive. Code Ultraviolet meant significant danger to her command. Swallowing, she tabbed the com unit built into her command chair, "I'm on my way down. Contact the XO and have him meet me there. Gideon out".

"Something up, skipper?" The Bosun asked, noticing the change in his captain's demeanour.

"Maybe...maybe". Gideon stood, the magnetic plates on the bottom of her deck shoes clicking as she slowly made her way across the bridge to the hatch. "You have the conn. Call the Master At Arms to the bridge and have her wait here for me".

"Aye-aye Captain".

The Combat Information Centre, or CIC, was a constant hive of activity, even when the ship was docked at a friendly port. Gideon brushed away the few stray hairs that were drifting in front of her eyes as she returned the salute from the two armed Marines on guard duty.

"I've decoded it twice and triple checked the authenticity". The duty communications officer, a young Leading Rate, was seated at her station, talking to the _Odin's_ Executive Officer. "The message is definitely genuine. After all...who else has access to our encryption protocols and an Enigma transmitter?"

"Good point". Lieutenant Commander William 'Wild Bill' Maddox nodded, "Keep an ear open for anything you might pick up from in-system".

"Aye-aye, Sir".

"What is it?" Gideon asked.

"The All-Seeing Eye intercepted a secure communication originating from within the Royalist Alliance High Command". Maddox handed over a print-off, "It looks like a Coalition unit hit a PenderCorp factory on Black Isle. What's worrying is that the attackers are supposedly a unit that's meant to be on The Rack right now on an anti-pirate mission".

"Orders from Commodore Ross?"

"Only that we should...and I quote, 'take any and all necessary measures to ensure the security of the ship and ultimately the Colonies themselves'. I've taken the liberty of ordering the chief engineer to arm to explosives attached to the NavCom. The rest of the Squadron is heading for Hunter's Paradise to provide cover for the Brunel".

"Good idea. Can we contact the Pathfinders?"

"No - they went dark as soon as the DropShip burnt from Pain. They'll observe strict radio silence for the next ten days".

"Unless the shit hits the fan..." Gideon reached across to the intercom built into the bulkhead, "Bridge, Captain".

"Bosun here".

"Sound General Quarters. Have the Master At Arms issue side arms to all crew members and have the CAG begin a Combat Air Patrol immediately".

Gideon cut the link without waiting for a response, "And may God help us..."

* * *

_Nadir Jump Point,_

_Hunters Paradise,_

_The Periphery,  
28th August, 3068_

Commodore Glen Ross looked at the holographic map of the Hunters Paradise system and frowned.

The Star League era orbital station, where his fleet was currently based, had been purchased by the monolithic Hark Corporation and refitted, to offer rest and recreational facilities to crews making the long journey between the Outer Colonies and the Inner Sphere. Several jumpships kept station at the system's jump points, watched over by the ever vigilant eyes of the ships under Ross' command.

Two Essex class destroyers, Ross' own _Idun_ and her sister ship, the _Njord_, stood guard over the Nadir jump point, while the Essex class _Ull_ and Lola III class _O'Connor_ kept watch at the Zenith. Deeper in-system, not far from Hunter's Paradise itself, was the Brunel class Mobile Repair Yard _Chatham_, on hand to offer extended maintenance to any and all friendly ships in the area.

But the possibility of unfriendly ships appearing was growing more and more likely. The Outer Colonies Ministry of Intelligence, popularly known as 'The All-Seeing Eye', had picked up reports of sporadic fighting between units supposedly representing the nearby Britannic Coalition and Royalist Alliance.

As the Outer Colonies had non-aggression and mutual aid treaties with both realms, ships from either side could conceivably request the aid of the _Chatham_ if they entered the system. The concept of the war spilling over into the corner of the Periphery that he was currently responsible for did not fill Commodore Glen Ezekiel Ross with glee.

The only thing that kept him from ordering the mobile repair yard to close up shop and head back home was the fact that he could not spare any ships to escort it. The fifth ship under his command, the Essex class destroyer _Odin_, was elsewhere in the Periphery, transporting a commando team to the pirate world known only as Pain.

"Sir, we have multiple IR plumes 100,000km off the port beam", the Officer of the Watch reported. "Looks like ten…I say again, one-zero ships inbound".

"There are no scheduled convoys due in", Ross hissed. "Who has that many ships?"

"Unknown sir; it could be ships trying to escape the fighting, or it could be the Clans".

"By the Unfinished Book, pray that you are wrong. Nevertheless, prepare to implement the Cole Protocol".

"Aye-aye, Sir!"

Ross watched the IR blooms grow, all but one surpassing any civilian vessel.

"FLARE! FLARE! FLARE!" the Officer of the Watch yelled, "The first ship has just jumped in!"

"Give me an open channel!" Ross pressed the activation stud attached to the set of headphones he was wearing. "En garde, unknown vessel, this is Commodore Glen Ross of the OCS Idun. Identify yourself immediately or we will fire upon you".

"OCS Idun, this is the SS Siege Perilous", a calm voice responded. "We are operating under orders of Rear-Admiral Constantine Wolf".

"Siege Perilous, this is Idun. Hold position while we verify your ID". Ross cut the link. "What's the IFF say?"

"IFF confirms vessel as SS Siege Perilous - a Star Lord jumpship belonging to the Knights Templar", the Operations Officer reported. "Target is friendly".

"Sir, we have more ships jumping in". The Officer of the Watch looked round. "All IFF transponders read as OCDF Navy. I'm seeing the OCS Wild Swan, Toronto, Isis, Achates, Edinburgh, Sir Tristran and the FAS John Hopkins. More ships still inbound".

"It must be 2nd Squadron and the ships sent to upgrade the Coalition shipyards at Cygnet". Ross breathed a sigh of relief, "Signal the Siege Perilous that we read them as friendly and inform Admiral Wolf that I defer military control of the system to her as of now".

"Confirmed sir", the Operations Officer nodded. "Two more ships have just arrived - the Omega class destroyers Alexander and Churchill".

"The two picket ships for the Cygnus yard", Ross nodded. "That's everyone accounted for. Have the Chatham power up their HPG and send a message back home, confirming the convoy's arrival. Inform Commander Kincaid of the O'Connor that I want him to make best speed for Pain and report to Captain Gideon…I don't want the Odin sitting there alone, given what's been happening lately".


	6. Moment of Truth

_10km North of Pirate Base,_

_High Desert, Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery  
_

The leading lances of the Second Predators emerged from Devil's Canyon. Macready blinked as he caught his first sighting of the invaders. Two rather thin-looking lines of mechs were arrayed across the centre of the plain, one behind the other, while he noted two other smaller groups spread out in flanking positions to either side of the main formation. He checked his sensor readouts again_. There can't be more than a battalion_, he thought. Whoever they were, they'd just made their biggest and last mistake.

He snorted as he activated his neurohelmet radio. "There they are guys and gals, lets chew 'em up and spit 'em out! _You'll see what happens when strangers mosey onto the Predators' turf, uninvited_, he thought as he pushed the _Pillager's_ throttle to the stops and floated his targeting reticule over the leading enemy mechs.

After being bottled up in the canyon, the pirate regiment exited in a rather disorganised fashion, the faster mechs pulling away from the main formation, while the slower ones got left behind in the rush to engage the enemy. Macready could hear his unit commanders yelling at their troops to try and maintain formation. He thought about issuing a command over the regimental channel to keep a tight formation, but with three-to-one numerical superiority, he decided to let his men have a little fun. He lined up a shot on an unfamiliar enemy machine with his _Pillager's_ twin gauss rifles and waited for the light to flash up on his HUD, telling him he was within weapons range.

***

"Easy…hold your fire", Demi Precentor Osborne commanded. As he fidgeted in his _Crimson Tiger's_ command couch, he wondered if his troops were as nervous as he was. He guessed they probably were. The sight of the pirate regiment spilling out of the canyon towards them was a truly unnerving sight. This was by far the biggest action they had taken part in since the unit was formed, a little over 5 years ago and there was no telling how they'd react, once battle was joined. He consoled himself with the knowledge that the Predators had probably never fought a large-scale battle against trained forces either.

As he watched, the pirates' advance became a headlong charge, with many individual mechs becoming separated from the main force. The nearest ones would be in range any moment now. Osborne radioed Adept Joshua Pennant, commander of the fire support unit, whose mechs were lined up some 200 metres behind his. "Adept Pennant, fire when ready!"

"Aye, sir", came the crisp reply.

Behind them, plumes of smoke billowed from the missile racks of II Delta's _Catapults_ and _Longbows_. Over 200 long-range missiles sped towards the oncoming pirates on trails of fire. These were supplemented by the pale blue gauss rifle discharges and the harsher lightning-bolt PPC fire from the newer _Valiant_, _Razer_ and _Nemesis_ assault mechs of II Alpha. Although the fire support unit was formed up in a staggered line behind his troops, allowing them to fire into the ten-metre gaps between each mech, Osborne still cringed at the sheer volume of fire coming from behind them.

He was gratified however, to see four pirate mechs go down under the first volley - pummelled by numerous missile, gauss and PPC hits. Two others showed extensive damage, though they were still operational.

This prompted an immediate response and suddenly the Guards found themselves under attack as the following enemy mechs returned fire. They'd been rattled by the savagery of the Guards' opening salvo though and their aim was poor. Swarms of missiles peppered their ranks, along with autocannon slugs and laser fire, but did only superficial damage.

Osborne heard cries of alarm over the radio net, from some of his greener pilots, as they faced the decidedly unpleasant experience of concentrated enemy fire for the first time. He checked his range indicator. Distance to the lead enemy mech was now less than 500 metres. _'Time for Phase Two'_, he thought. He selected III Alpha's command frequency. "Units Bravo, Gamma and Epsilon…charge!"

At that signal, eighteen heavy and medium mechs, of the thirty under his direct command, throttled up and headed directly at the advancing pirates in a heavyweight game of chicken. The faster ones, including the new _Reaver _and _Southpaw_ designs being produced by Coldstream Defence Technologies, blazed away with their autocannon and lasers. The slower ones including _Bandersnatches_, _Toyamas_ and a number of recently acquired _Pendermechs_, opened up with their LRMs and gauss rifles.

The effect was devastating and between them, they dispatched another half dozen pirate mechs, before the enemy's sheer numbers bogged the charge down and forced them to engage in melee fighting. Out on the flanks, the battle armour troops of II Theta were harrying the Predators, using hit and run tactics, drawing the pirates out from the centre and dispersing their forces.

* * *

_Zeppelin _Pandora,_  
Fox Bay, Port Stanley,  
Outer Colonies,  
Deep Periphery,  
29th August, 3068  
_  
The desolate plains passed below the massive transport zeppelin as it made its way towards the landing field just outside the city of Fox Bay, principal city of the Fitzroy continent. Even from this distance, it was possible to make out the massive Quantum-Tech Industries factory complex. Almost as big as the city itself, the complex had been founded by the Star League Defence Force hundreds of years before and was almost entirely self-contained.

Helena Stark, elected representative for the world of Port Stanley and Chairwoman of the Council of Eleven, looked out of the reinforced window and smiled to herself. Despite the current economic slump, the Outer Colonies were faring well under her leadership.

"Tell me, Sara", said Stark turning to the only other occupant of the room. "What do you think of the situation brewing between the Royalist Alliance and the Britannic Coalition?"

Lieutenant-General Sara Eriksson, commanding officer of the Elite Grenadier Guards and by extension, the Brigade of Guards itself, took a deep breath. "It worries me…more than you might think".

"In what way?"

"Since we signed our treaty with the Coalition, we've started shipping almost 90% of our cargo, bound for the Inner Sphere, through their space rather than the Rim Collection. Those ships contain mechs, vehicles and supplies desperately needed in the Inner Sphere. We equally need the money those sales generate. If I was forced to bet, I would say that Word of Blake could be behind the attacks".

"And why would you say that?"

"They can't attack us directly - our defences are just too strong, since our military hasn't just been decimated by a long, drawn out war. They have no way to place agents inside our organisation, so their only option left is to cause friction between our allies, in an attempt to effectively blockade us. Without access to a reliable shipyard in or near the Inner Sphere, we cannot continue to run as many convoys as we do".

"While I agree with your hypothesis, we have no clear evidence as to who is behind the attacks. But we do need a secure base near the Inner Sphere. Hunters Paradise is not up to the task, so we must look elsewhere".

"What do you have in mind?"

"Pain and The Rack. I'll bet you a years' pay that the joint RAAF / BCAF strike against Pearson's Predators isn't going to go ahead as scheduled. However, our Pathfinders are already on Pain. If we can take and hold the planet, we will have a secure base of operations on the fringes of the Inner Sphere".

"And much closer to the Clans…we've had more than one skirmish with them in recent years, ever since they found out about the Minnesota Tribe. A base so near to their occupation zones could be seen as a challenge".

"That is why I am sending an entire Brigade to take and hold the planet..."

"The Guards can be ready to boost for orbit in 48 hours".

"Of all the units in the entire Outer Colonies Defence Force, there is none I have more faith in than the Brigade of Guards. If you want the mission, it is yours".

"We won't let you down, Madam Chairwoman".

"I'm glad to hear that. But I am not sure that three regiments are enough to take and hold Pain, even with the help of the Knights Templar. I want you to take another regiment with you. Is there any unit you'd particularly like?"

"The Highland Rangers have experience fighting the sort of battles we'll be facing. I'm sure General McDougal would be willing to lend them to us for the duration of the mission".

"Yes, I'm sure Conner will be more than happy to see his old regiment sent on such a prestigious mission, especially as he'll be taking over command of the entire 7th Royal Armoured Division while you are away. You shouldn't be gone too long though. I'll cut orders rotating another Brigade out there as soon as possible. You can take the command circuit - that should cut down travel time somewhat, which I'm sure will please your husband".

"David knows what it is to be married to a soldier. He'll look after the children while I'm gone".

"Well, you shouldn't be away more than a year at most. Good luck, General".


	7. Feeling the Heat

_High Desert,  
Southern Continent,  
The Rack,  
The Periphery,  
25th August, 3068_

Bainbridge couldn't believe it. They'd accounted for nearly an entire pirate company without sustaining a single loss themselves. Still, shock tactics would only work for so long. Now it was time to call in the cavalry. He opened up the divisional command channel. "Three Bravo and Three Gamma, advance on nav point Beta and engage at your earliest opportunity".

Checking his tactical display, he saw that Osborne and Three Alpha were in danger of being destroyed piecemeal by the pirates. "Alan, time to get out of there. Fall back to Nav Alpha – we'll cover you".

"Sir, can't disengage…we're surrounded…n…" the rest of Alan's response was lost in a wash of static, probably resulting from an energy weapon discharging in close proximity.

"Alan…Alan! Get out of there! Do you copy? Al…if you can hear me, please respond!"

Icy talons gripped Philip's chest, though he tried to ignore the anxiety rising within him. Osborne might be okay and it might just be a radio malfunction that kept him from communicating. On the other hand…

He switched channels on his radio. "Command, you are free to engage at will!" He knew his half-dozen cumbersome assault mechs were not suited to close range combat, but to give Alan and his troops any chance of escape, he needed to provide a diversion until Three Bravo and Three Gamma arrived.

The missile carriers hung back, firing their LRM racks until they were out of ammo. The problem was that with the battle now a fast-moving melee, the missiles hit friendly units, nearly as often as the pirates, prompting numerous angry curses and cries to cease-fire over the Division's radio net. Meanwhile, the Command Level II, which included his _Valiant_, a _Fusillade_, a _Marauder_ and a _Warhammer_, ponderously closed the remaining two hundred metres with, what seemed to Bainbridge, agonising slowness.

The Command unit's considerable firepower tore through the pirate ranks and for a while it looked as though victory could be imminent, but for every enemy mech downed it seemed that two more took its place. The whole plain was a mass of moving machines, interspersed with flashes of weapons fire and explosions. Several mechs from both sides suffered critical reactor failures and disintegrated in golden fireballs. The smoke-filled sky was dotted with the escape pods and parafoils of ejected pilots.

Bainbridge drove his _Valiant_ remorselessly through the press of pirate mechs encircling the embattled mechs of Three Alpha. Through a gap in the fighting he spied Osborne's battered _Crimson Tiger_ – a relatively new assault omnimech, equipped with twin extended-range particle cannon and a plethora of lasers. Alan's mech was missing its left arm, depriving it of a large laser, as well as large patches of armour plating. Smoke poured from its torso, indicating internal damage.

With his long-range weapons useless, Philip fired his torso-mounted pulse lasers and swung the _Valiant's_ heavily armoured arms like clubs, punching and kicking, knocking aside one pirate mech after another. It struck him that the bulk of the enemy forces seemed to be made up of medium and heavy mechs, most of them extensively patched up and modified. The few assault-class machines he could see presumably belonged to unit commanders.

Suddenly, he found a battle-scarred pirate _Warhammer_ blocking his bath. Unable to use its long-range weapons, the pilot fired his medium lasers into the torso of Philip's _Valiant_, burning off over a ton of armour. In reply, Bainbridge fired his own pulse lasers, following up with a punch to the pirate's centre-torso, shattering much of the remaining armour protection and a kick to the left leg, damaging the actuator. The kinetic energy imparted by the attack unbalanced the mech and in spite of the pilot's best efforts, it slowly toppled backwards, slamming into the ground and throwing up a could of dust.

Philip looked over at Major Osborne's _Crimson Tiger_ again, just in time to see it go down under a hail of autocannon and laser fire from a pirate _Marauder_, gyro damage robbing Alan of any control.

Before he could react, Keira O'Reilly's _Pendermech_ stepped in to protect her fallen comrade, it's autocannon and lasers blazing, severing the _Marauder's_ right arm. Its pilot stubbornly fought on and to Philip's horror, it raised its left foot and trod on the back of the downed Coalition omnimech. Sparks and smoke erupted as the giant foot smashed through the mech's thin rear armour, destroying internal systems. O'Reilly was forced to back away, though she continued to trade laser and cannon fire with the pirate. Acting purely on instinct, Bainbridge drove his mech towards the _Marauder_. The pirate, his attention fully focused on Keira's _Pendermech_, never saw him coming. As Philip came in from the side, he drew his mech's right arm back, then lunged forward in a punching motion. The last thing the pirate saw, was the _Valiant's_ gauss rifle arm smash through his cockpit viewscreen.

With difficulty, Bainbridge wrenched his mech's right arm out of the smoking wreckage of the _Marauder's_ cockpit. Without the pilot to control it and with its only means of support removed, the pirate mech crashed to the ground like a puppet with its strings severed. He stared at it for a moment, strangely devoid of any emotion. When he looked around him, O'Reilly had vanished, swept up in the whirling dance of combat once again. He checked his tactical display. The situation was desperate now. The remains of Three Alpha had been dispersed and swallowed up by the massed forces of the Predators. If his reinforcements didn't arrive very soon, they would have nobody to rescue.


	8. Mercenary's Gambit

_High Desert,  
Southern Continent,  
The Rack,  
The Periphery,  
25th August, 3068_

Being in the thick of the action, it took Bainbridge several moments to work out what was happening. Hearing a number of whoops and cheers over the Division's radio net, he torso-twisted frantically, trying to figure out what was getting his troops so excited. Then he heard a familiar voice in his neurohelmet's headset.

"Apologies for the delay, sir, but its rather hard to do a cavalry charge through a bloody rock field".

Philip smiled as he recognised the voice of Demi-Precentor Patrick Donohue, commander of Three Bravo. "Good to hear you Pat. Now if you can just get these damned pirates off our backs, I'll buy all your chaps a round when we get back to Wellington".

He heard the mirth in Donohue's voice as he replied. "Never fear, sir – the Marauders are here".

Just then he heard another new voice as Robyn de Chastelaine, announced her arrival, along with the rest of Three Gamma. "The Iceni are ready to do battle, sir. Engaging immediately".

Bainbridge was suddenly aware that the meleé he'd been embroiled in was thinning out. Pirate mechs were streaming away from the centre of the battlefield. A hurried glance at his tactical display told him that they were being pushed back on the flanks too. The arrival of Three Bravo and Gamma had caught the Predators by surprise, as planned and forced them to fall back.

He stared in mute horror as the full extent of the carnage was revealed. There appeared to be over thirty pirate mechs, destroyed or disabled, scattered over a radius of several hundred metres. Even worse was the sight of the remains of Three Alpha. Fewer than a dozen mechs remained - all damaged to some degree.

* * *

_High Desert,  
Southern Continent,  
The Rack,  
The Periphery,  
25th August, 3068_

"Stand fast, dammit!" Macready shouted over the regimental com-link as he watched the Second Predators fall back under the Guards' flanking manouevre. On his tactical display he saw gaps open up in his lines as units began to retreat back to the canyon. "Alvarez, Hendricks – get your men back here or I swear I'll kill you both with my bare hands!" he barked into his neurohelmet radio.

"Sir, Major Alvarez is dead!" called a panicked voice over the radio net, that Springer did not recognise.

Macready swore. "What about Captain Powell?"

Another voice came on. "Haven't seen him since he went off to lead that flanking attack, General. His unit was probably cut off by the enemy reinforcements".

Macready immediately recognised the growling tone of Sergeant Erik Kasprowicz, one of his most experienced and trusted men. "It doesn't look good sir. We stretched ourselves too thin trying to take that first unit out quick and now we can't concentrate enough fire to hold off these newcomers. I think it might be wise to pull back and regroup, sir".

Macready wanted to snarl an immediate rejection of that suggestion, but the logic of it, coupled with Kasprowicz's respectful tone forced him to think it over.

"Fine. Where's Captain Hendricks – is he still with us?"

"Heading for Devil's Canyon last time I saw him, sir".

"Lousy son of a bitch! I'll give him a reason to run if I ever see him again."

Just then an enemy _Centurion_ crossed his field of view and opened fire. The _Black Rhino_ shuddered as a stream of autocannon slugs stitched a diagonal line of craters across his _Pillager's_ front torso, eliciting another stream of profanities from Macready.

He tracked the enemy mech, torso twisting to keep it in his crosshairs. Selecting both gauss rifles, he squeezed the joystick's primary trigger. The hundred ton mech lurched slightly as it was pushed in the opposite direction by two 125-kilo nickel ferrous projectiles accelerating to hypersonic speed. They impacted on the _Centurion's_ right torso, obliterating the armour protecting its flank. The mech staggered under the assault, but its pilot recovered and beat a hasty retreat.

Having given himself time to think, he slowed his mech to a halt and switched his radio to the battalion command frequency. "This is General Macready to all Predators, form up on Captain Hendricks and First Battalion. Regroup on the other side of the canyon and prepare for a counterattack".

He switched to First Battalion's command channel. "Hendricks!" he barked.

A worried sounding voice answered. "Yes, sir?"

"If it wasn't for the fact you're right where I need you, I'd kick your ass to Caldarium and back!

"Sir?"

"Listen, you worthless piece of scum. When this is all over, you and me are gonna have words. Until then, I'm putting you in charge of our withdrawal. Pull our troops back through the canyon and set up so you can pick off these sons of bitches as they follow us through".

"Yessir!"

"And Hendricks…"

"Sir?"

"Screw this up and I promise, I will kill you…_comprendez_?"

"Uh…yes sir. Don't worry sir, we'll whip these bastards real good".

Macready gave a sarcastic snort as he cut the link and began to direct the Predators' rearguard.


	9. Sacrificial LAMs

_High Desert,_

_Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

High above the action on the ground, Adept Cressida Davies had a clear view of the Predators' movements and guessed their intentions almost immediately. Alarmed at the possible consequences, she radioed Precentor Bainbridge. "Sir, the pirates are pulling back through the canyon…I think they mean for us to follow them!"

Bainbridge had already spotted the enemy's line of retreat. "We can't let them regroup…they'll be able to pick us off at their leisure if we have to chase them into the canyon". Philip's face screwed up with concentration as various scenarios played out in his mind.

"Adept, do you recall if we have any other LAMs?"

"Uh, just the one, sir…why?"

Bainbridge hurriedly outlined his idea. Minutes later, Cressida was on the radio to Demi-Precentor de Chastelaine, requesting the release of one of her scout mechs. A short time later, the Britannia Guard's only other _Red Kite_ flew in from the east and formed up on her. The pair raced towards Devil's Canyon, with Davies explaining the Precentor's plan to her wingmate as she went. They were forced to dodge occasionally as the fleeing pirates aimed a few desultory shots in their direction, but covered the distance to their target in less than a minute.

Davies checked her radio before giving her wingmate her final instructions. "Okay Lisa, begin your run to target…now!" The situation was too urgent to bother with callsigns or codenames for their hastily improvised pairing.

"Roger that, Adept Davies!"

Acolyte Lisa Richardson, broke right and began a long sweeping turn that would bring her in line with the canyon entrance from the opposite side, while Davies broke left, doubling back on their previous course, allowing her to time her approach to coincide with Richardson's attack run. It was going to be very close…the Predators were already over halfway through the canyon.

Davies pushed her stick left and the rudder pedals right to bring her _Kite_ around in a sharp, climbing turn. In the hazy blue distance, sunlight glinted off the cockpit canopy of Richardson's LAM as she dived to just a few metres above the cliff-tops to begin her run. '_Christ - she's cutting it awfully close!',_ thought Davies.

The mouth of the canyon rapidly sped towards her as the LAM ate up the remaining distance. Less than a hundred feet below, Richardson's _Kite_ was a blue-grey blur as it sped towards her. Coherent beams of ruby light lanced out from her wingmate's machine and blasted into the cliff-top. The wake turbulence of the other LAM buffeted her slightly, but not enough to spoil her aim. Aiming her _Kite's_ nose at the opposite cliff face, Davies triggered her extended range large laser and paired medium lasers, blasting the rocky overhang with nearly her full arsenal.

They swept around for another pass to inspect the damage and were dismayed to find their strafing had caused only minimal damage. "We just don't have enough firepower!" called Richardson.

"We can try another run".

"And if that doesn't work? We won't have time for another pass…the pirates will be through the gap".

Cressida gave a heavy sigh and closed her eyes for a moment. "I'll call Precentor Bainbridge and tell him we may not be able to do it".

"Wait!" called Lisa, bringing her _Kite_ to a slow cruise in formation with Davies' LAM. "I have an idea…why not use the LAMs?"

"What?" Davies looked across at her wingmate in confusion.

"Why don't we crash the LAMs into the cliffs? That'll bring them down for sure".

Cressida couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Are you insane?"

Lisa gave a sinister laugh. "Maybe, but I can't think of a better way of stopping the pirates dead in their tracks…can you?"

Davies had to admit she couldn't. If they were going to do something, they had to act now. "Okay Lisa, but you'd better bloody well be careful. If you get yourself killed, I'll be buried under paperwork for the next month!" She shook her head - unable to believe she was actually going through with this.

On the other end of the radio link, she heard Richardson laugh again. "Just you be careful, sir. I don't want to have to explain to my CO how I got a senior officer killed. It could put a serious dent in my promotion prospects".

Cressida managed a chuckle of her own. "Okay – let's go round again".

The LAMs split again, with Richardson heading east and Davies breaking west. Checking her radar display, she saw the first cluster of red dots that denoted the leading elements of the Second Predators were almost three quarters of the way though. It was going to be _very_ close.

On Davies' signal, both _Red Kites_ turned and began their terminal charges at the canyon entrance. Punching in the co-ordinates and setting the autopilot, she began to prepare to eject. She whispered a brief prayer to any deities that might be listening, hoping her ejection system would work and that Lisa wouldn't leave it too late.

Looking out of her cockpit the ground seemed very close now. The evening sun cast a long shadow that sped across the desert floor, matching its owner. _'One kilometre to go now'_. They had agreed to eject with 500 metres to go and trust the autopilots to keep the LAMs on course. She began the countdown in her head. _900…800…700…600…500…now!_

"Ejecting!" she called out as she braced herself, tucked in her legs and punched the button that ignited the rockets built into the back of her command couch. The cockpit canopy blew away as she was catapulted into the air, clear of her gently nosediving mech.

Again, she caught the merest glimpse of a blue-grey blur speeding into the canyon from the opposite direction. A speck of white caught her eye as it arced upwards. She heaved a sigh of relief. Lisa got out okay! Just then, a thunderous roar erupted from the canyon entrance and twin fireballs blossomed out from the cliff faces, palls of black-grey smoke billowing upward like funeral shrouds for the deceased LAMs.

Cressida let out a scream of triumph as she saw huge sections of rock break away from the canyon's sheer walls. Large boulders, fist-sized rocks and rubble all combined to create an avalanche of broken stone, which cascaded down the canyon's steep sides, rapidly blocking the narrow entrance with a wall of rock thirty feet high.

_Oh no!_ She caught sight of Lisa again and she was falling a lot faster than she should be. Her parafoil hadn't deployed properly and the big, wing-shaped parachute was partially snagged in the control lines. Lisa spun and swayed helplessly underneath as she tried to untangle the cords. Cressida found herself unable to look away as her friend fell towards the ground at dangerously high speed. She did look away at the last moment before impact, but turned back to see where she'd fallen. Yanking on her parafoil's control lines, she steered herself towards the grounded chute as it flapped idly in the breeze.

She was coming in too fast, but she barely gave a thought for herself. All her attention was focused on getting to Lisa as fast as possible. She touched down hard, fell and rolled. Cressida gave a yelp as pain flared in her knee and ankle. Unstrapping her harness, she gingerly got to her feet, retrieved her survival kit and limped over to Lisa. She pulled the useless parafoil off her friend and awkwardly knelt beside her.

Richardson's head lay at an unnatural angle and blood seeped onto the dry, dusty rock from an unseen wound. Frantic checks for a pulse and breathing drew a blank.

"Oh, God, please no! Come on Lisa...come on!" Cressida whispered, tears rolling down her face as she attempted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. After several minutes of fruitless effort, she ran out of strength and willpower to continue.

Cressida knelt, gazing at her friend for several minutes, putting off what she knew she must do. Slowly, with trembling hands, she gingerly felt Lisa's neck. From the slackness and odd positioning of the vertebrae, she knew it was broken. She must have died the instant she hit the ground. Cressida instinctively put her hands to her mouth, choking back a cry of grief, but was unable to stem a fresh outpouring of tears.

The sounds of distant combat jerked her out of her mourning some time later. Working entirely on autopilot, Adept Davies did the only thing left, going back to her battered ejection seat and activating the built-in rescue beacon. As an afterthought she rigged a sunscreen from the remains of the parafoil, to deflect the worst of the desert heat while she waited.


	10. Picking Up The Gauntlet

_High Desert,_

_Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

Miles Hendricks looked on in horror as the cliff-tops, less than a hundred metres ahead of him, disintegrated as the two land-air mechs slammed into them. The ground shook as several hundred tons of rock came crashing down in twin vertical avalanches, blocking the exit and knocking over the leading mechs like so many skittles. He felt the reverberations through his _Orion's_ command couch as his hand slammed down on the throttle, bringing the heavy mech to a stop.

He activated his neurohelmet radio, selecting the command frequency. "Uh, General, whoever these sunzabitches are, they just brought the canyon down on us…we're trapped like fish in a barrel!" He swallowed hard and wished he hadn't sounded so panicky.

Macready, who had been supervising the Predators' rearguard at the canyon entrance, was in total disbelief. "What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Sir, there's a hundred foot wall of rock in front of us. Those crazy bastards just rammed a couple fighters into the overhangs and brought 'em down damn near right on top of us. We can probably blast through, but it'll take some time".

The General vented his feelings with a string of vile curses that made Hendricks cringe. "We ain't got any time Miles. I've just pulled back to the canyon - they're about a couple of minutes behind us".

There was a moment's silence as the pair of them considered the implications of this.

"So, all our units are in the canyon now?"

"All, bar a few stragglers".

"Then we're screwed! If we try and fight our way out, they'll slaughter us…"

Macready, fed up with his subordinate, suppressed the urge to snarl at Hendricks. "Not necessarily. If I can get their commander to meet me in single combat, I might just be able to get us out of this".

"Sir, you can't be serious…"

"You got any better ideas?" snapped Macready, losing patience with his lily-livered subordinate.

Hendricks was brave enough when the odds were stacked in his favour, but it seemed his heart wasn't quite so stout when there was a possibility his worthless hide might be at risk.

"Hold position here. I want your men guarding the canyon in the event I lose or they decide not to play ball". The General smiled, in spite of his anger, at the thought of Hendricks and his men being the first in the firing line, should things take a turn for the worst.

"Yes, sir", replied Hendricks. He sounded subdued, already beaten. Or maybe, thought Macready, he'd resigned himself to his fate, whatever it may be.

Macready set his radio to broadcast on an open frequency that everyone on both sides would be able to hear. "This is General Springer Macready, commander of Second Regiment, Pearson's Predators, to the commander of the unidentified forces invading our homeworld. In the interests of preventing any further loss of life…and equipment, I challenge you to a duel. If you win, you will have our unconditional surrender. If I win…you and your troops will become prisoners of the Predators and your mechs will be taken as salvage".

All across the plains and all through the canyon, combatants on both sides paused as they listened to the challenge being issued. During the silence that followed, no-one moved, it was as though both sides were holding their breath, awaiting the answer.

Macready's patience finally snapped, "So…what's it to be? I think you've had plenty of time to consider".

A little over a kilometre away, out in the sweltering, dusty plains, Bainbridge contemplated the pirate commander's words in the stuffy confines of his _Valiant's_ cockpit. He dragged an arm across his sweaty brow, wiping it with one of the sweatbands he habitually wore on his wrists. He reached under the console and took a swig of lukewarm energy drink he always kept there. _'Its no use…I can't delay this any longer'_, he thought. Philip checked his radio settings and switched to the open frequency the pirate commander was using.

He was about to reply when Keira O'Reilly cut in on their private channel. "Sir, don't do it. We've got them cornered. They've nowhere to run - you don't need to risk yourself".

"You know what they say about cornered animals, Keira…that's when they're the most dangerous. If we try and fight them in the canyon, the losses on both sides will be horrendous. It seems this pirate commander has some honour and concern for his own troops after all. If we can prevent any further bloodshed then we must do so".

He tried to force some humour into his voice. "What's the matter – you're not worried I'll disgrace the Guards' good name by getting blown out of my mech, are you?"

Keira hesitated before replying. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't, sir. If this _pirate_ Macready has survived this long, it's a fair bet he's a pretty capable pilot".

Philip frowned. "And you don't think I am?"

"Of course not…I mean I do sir, but…" she trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words, a rare occurrence for the normally loquacious officer of Irish descent.

"Look, Keira, if there's a way to end this without anyone else dying, then I'm all for it".

His words were punctuated by the dull thunder of explosions, interlaced with the sharper sounds of weapons fire. Left behind as the focus of battle shifted towards the canyon, their mechs were rocked by a few stray rounds, but were not targeted. It seemed that some pilots on both sides were letting itchy trigger fingers get the better of them. He had to make the call…now.

"But, sir…"

"Keira, if we follow our orders to the letter and wipe the Predators out, especially when their commander has bargained for the lives of his men, what does that make us?"

"It means we'll still be alive, which is more than we can expect if you lose!" O'Reilly retorted. Never afraid to show her emotions, she sounded angry and afraid now. "What makes you think you can trust him? What's to say he doesn't have some sort of ambush planned?"

"I believe Macready is doing this for his men. The Predators are outnumbered and outgunned – and he knows it. He knows the only way out of this is to cut a deal. I may not be a Solaris hotshot or a Succession Wars veteran, but I did graduate from Sandhurst with honours, which I bet is more than he can boast. I think I can hold my own against him".

The line went dead as O'Reilly cut the link. Philip sighed and made a note to have a talk with her when this was over. He switched back to the frequency Macready had used to issue his challenge. "This is Precentor Philip Bainbridge, commander of the Britannia Guards, representing the armed forces of the Britannic Coalition. I accept your challenge. Have your troops withdraw to the canyon and meet me out here on the plain. I will order my forces to withdraw to our drop zone".

He heard Macready's dry rasping voice in his neurohelmet's headset. "'Bout time, Precentor Bainbridge". The pirate commander gave a cackle of amusement. I was beginnin' to think y'all had gotten a case of cold feet. I'll be with ya momentarily".


	11. High Noon

_High Desert,_

_Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

Bainbridge shuddered involuntarily as beads of sweat trickled down his chest, back and arms. If it was hot out in the desert, it was nothing compared to the sauna his _Valiant's_ cockpit had become, despite the mech's good heat dissipation. However, his discomfort was mainly due to the information being presented on his HUD and secondary monitors. Punching out that pirate's cockpit with his gauss rifle hadn't been a smart move. The weapon's icon on his HUD was greyed out, meaning it was disabled. Some debris must have lodged in the barrel, jamming the ammo feed mechanism or something. Several heat sinks were damaged, making the _Valiant_ run hotter than normal. The damage display was telling him he'd lost a good deal of front and rear torso armour. He was also down to his last few salvoes of missiles. All in all, he was beginning to wonder if Demi-Precentor O'Reilly hadn't been right about just finishing these pirates off and be done with it.

But looking out of his cockpit viewscreen he could see it was already too late for that. In the shimmering distance, he could just make out what had to be Macready's mech, slowly but determinedly making its way towards him from the canyon mouth. At this range, the heat haze made it impossible to identify with the naked eye, but his targeting computer told him it was a _PLG-3Z Pillager_ – a heavily armoured assault mech armed with twin gauss rifles and an array of lasers. The sweat on his body suddenly went cold, making him shiver, at that bit of information.

Stood alone, out in the middle of the plain, the pirate commander had surely already spotted him. If he turned and ran now, he would not only disgrace himself and his unit, but could also possibly trigger a bloodbath if the pirates sensed they had been double-crossed. The fingers of his gloved right hand deftly worked the joystick buttons to select the LRM launcher located in the mech's right torso and tie it to his thumb trigger. With his left hand he worked the targeting controls, bracketing the oncoming pirate in a red triangle on his HUD. The _Pillager_ was just over a kilometre off now. He concentrated on the low tone coming through his helmet's earphones, waiting for it to change pitch, signalling that the Artemis fire control system had locked on.

The seconds ticked by with agonising slowness as the two combatants closed the range. _There!_ The buzzing in Philip's ears changed to a high-pitched whine and on the HUD his crosshairs flashed gold. Without conscious thought, his thumb hit the fire button and the _Valiant_ shuddered as fifteen long-range missiles left their launch tubes.

In the cockpit of the Black Rhino, Macready cursed as his warning systems detected the launch. The _Pillager_ was a simple, if powerful mech. With neither ECM or an anti-missile system with which to confuse or shoot down the incoming missiles, all he could do was increase his speed and get inside their minimum effective range as quickly as possible. Less than ten seconds later, the missiles slammed into the pirate mech, scoring hits on the right arm and all over the torso. The _Pillager_, moving at flank speed, stayed upright mainly thanks to its momentum. Its heavy armour absorbed the force of the detonating warheads easily, although the impact jolted Macready around in his command couch.

Bainbridge's throat went dry as he watched the pirate mech shrug off his missile attack with apparent ease. Judging from the dust clouds it was kicking up, Macready was going hell for leather to close the range. His HUD informed him the missile rack had reloaded. The fire control system was still locked on and he hit the fire button again, sending another salvo of missiles at the pirate commander.

Macready let rip with another stream of obscenities as his threat indicators lit up again. Bracing himself for another battering, he continued relentlessly forward as a second storm of missiles pounded away at his armour. Checking his damage display didn't improve his mood as he saw yellow patches covering his right arm and torso. He checked his range indicator. _Good! Any moment now…_ The other mech's ECM was playing havoc with his targeting systems but he watched carefully how it moved and placed his crosshairs slightly in front of it. Squeezing his primary trigger, the _Pillager_ rocked backwards as a pair of hundred and twenty-five kilo, nickel-ferrous projectiles were fired from the barrels of his gauss rifles, accelerated to hypersonic speed.

Bainbridge was caught off-guard, not expecting the pirate to return fire so quickly. By sheer good fortune he was side stepping a rock pile, which caused one slug to miss, instead obliterating the rock formation he'd just dodged round. The other round caught the _Valiant_ squarely in the left torso, punching through his remaining armour and destroying the pair of medium lasers housed there. Power circuits shorted and caught fire and a steady stream of greyish-black smoke poured from the jagged hole. Philip was slammed back in his seat as the mech's torso twisted violently under the impact.

He began thinking furiously. His mech couldn't take much more abuse like that. He scanned the landscape, looking for any terrain features that might help. Nothing was immediately apparent. He returned his attention to his approaching foe. Selecting his LRM launcher again, he dropped his crosshairs over the _Pillager's_ bulky silhouette and waited for the fire control system to report lock-on. As he hit the trigger, the _Valiant_ rocked gently as the last round of missiles blasted from the torso-mounted launcher. The LRM15 icon began flashing red on his HUD's weapons display.

"Ammunition depleted", chimed the battle computer, in its emotionless electronic voice.

Macready braced himself yet again and rode out the storm as another volley of missiles peppered his mech. Checking his damage display, he saw part of his torso and right arm were now highlighted red. With a savage curse he prepared to unleash another barrage of gauss-assisted death on his enemy. He was too slow though. Even as he lined up the shot, the other mech rose a short distance on fiery trails of plasma, just enough to throw his aim. _Jumpjets!_ He cursed mentally. By no means unheard of, they were still rare on assault mechs. As it sailed through the air, it brought its right arm to bear on him. Twin beams of ionised particles lanced through the air and struck the _Pillager's_ right torso and arm, vapourising armour and internal structure, though not disabling any weapons.

"Warning, damage critical", the Black Rhino's computer informed him.

His secondary displays were temporarily filled with static as the high-intensity electromagnetic discharge overloaded the mech's electronics. Pale blue, flickering, man-made lighting danced over the _Pillager's_ exterior.


	12. Desperate Measures

_High Desert,_

_Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

"Heat level critical – shutdown imminent".

Bainbridge knew he was in trouble as soon as he heard the computer's latest warning. Firing both the _Valiant's_ paired PPCs and using his jumpjets simultaneously had taxed the remaining heat sinks beyond their capacity. He'd used up all his coolant during the earlier fighting – all he could do was wait for his mech to bleed off the excess heat. Bringing the _Valiant_ to a halt, he managed to avoid a shutdown, but it made him a sitting duck for several vital seconds, during which Macready doggedly brought his _Pillager_ about.

Philip pushed his throttle to the stops as he saw it's massive arms rise to a firing position, but the _Valiant_ was still running hot and responded sluggishly. He'd never be able to dodge this time.

Springer crowed triumphantly as he saw the other mech struggling to move. Taking careful aim he tied both gauss rifles to the primary firing trigger and squeezed. This time both slugs found their mark. One blasted though the thin armour protecting the _Valiant's_ LRM launcher, wrecking the internal structure. Philip counted his blessings that he'd run out of ammo just moments earlier. The second slug shattered the armour plating on his right arm. The thunderbolt impacts sent the _Valiant_ reeling backwards and Bainbridge had to fight both the controls and feedback from his neurohelmet to keep the giant war machine upright. Two more sections flashed red on his damage display, but on his weapons display, the gauss rifle suddenly lit up, indicating it was operational again.

Philip blinked in surprise. Maybe the impact jolted loose whatever was jamming it, he thought. Whatever the reason, it was time to let this pirate have a taste of his own medicine. He dropped his crosshairs over the _Pillager's_ centre torso and loosed off a snapshot. His aim was off though and the slug found the pirate mech's right leg, shattering much of the armour plating. Macready, surprised by the quick riposte, felt his mech stagger, unbalanced by the loss of armour. Regaining control he tied all his laser weapons to the primary firing circuit and cut loose. With the range now under 300 metres it would have been difficult to miss. Four thin beams and one larger beam of ruby coherent light reached out like fiery talons to vapourise armour from the _Valiant's_ centre torso.

Intent upon finishing his foe, Macready continued to close the range and fired his gauss rifles as soon as they were reloaded, paying little heed to the accuracy of his shots. Bainbridge's evasive manouevres caused one slug to miss, though the other impacted on the _Valiant's_ centre torso, obliterating the remaining armour and breaching the internal structure.

"ECM disabled", warned the computer.

Wary of overheating his mech again, Philip restricted himself to firing a single PPC in reply. He was surprised but gratified to see a small explosion and an uncontrolled, pale blue energy discharge erupt from the _Pillager's_ right torso as the shot breached the remaining armour and destroyed the gauss rifle mounted there.

Macready screamed in anger and pain, trying to block the wave of neural feedback that threatened to render him unconscious. Certain weapons, when destroyed, sent uncontrolled surges of energy though the mech's electrical systems, which in turn were sent via the neurohelmet, straight to the pilot's brain. Gauss rifles, which were powered by magnetic coils, were one such weapon. Shoving his throttle fully forward, he charged at his opponent, fully intending to ram him. Bainbridge realised the pirate's intent and dodged with just a few metres to spare. Macready countered by extending the _Pillager's_ right arm and aiming a punch at the _Valiant's_ damaged centre torso.

The barrel of the large laser mounted in the right arm drove deep into the _Valiant's_ already-damaged internal structure, smashing the gyro housed there. Philip felt his sense of balance desert him as the massive assault mech unbalanced and began to fall on its back. Wedging himself in his command couch, with his back and neck braced for impact, he hoped the couch's stabilisers, which prevented excessive movement, would protect him from serious injury.

The _Valiant_ crashed to the ground in a cloud of sand, dust and rock fragments. Alarms sounded and warning lights flashed across the command console, as the mech's rear armour and various internal systems were either damaged or destroyed. Shaken like a rag doll in the mouth of a Rottweiler, Philip pressed himself into the couch as hard as possible, eyes screwed shut. He let out a cry of agony as sharp pains lanced through his neck and spine. He was almost on the verge of passing out when suddenly the world stopped moving and all became relatively calm.

Eyes still shut, he was dimly aware of the computer's litany as it detailed all the damage that had been done to the mech. He tentatively tried moving his neck and back. Relief flooded through him when he discovered that, although in a great deal of pain, he seemed to be fully mobile. Slowly opening his eyes, he discovered the cockpit seemed to be mostly intact, aside from some overloaded and burnt-out controls and damaged monitors. His view of the outside world, however, was almost completely obscured by the layer of dirt, which covered the mech's relatively small cockpit windows. The master and battle computers still seemed to be functioning though, so he began running system checks to see if there was any chance of getting his mech back on it's feet.

Springer Macready let out a yell of triumph as he watched his opponent crash to the ground. He slowly advanced his mech forward, waiting for the dust cloud to clear. As the air cleared, he saw the dust-covered form of the battered _Valiant_ lying prone on the ground. As he moved towards it, he activated his neurohelmet radio and checked he was still on the open channel they'd used before the fight. He wanted everyone to hear the moment of his victory.

"Well, you fought a good fight, son. Now I'm gonna give you the end that every good warrior deserves".

He brought the Black Rhino to a halt at the feet of Bainbridge's downed mech, like an assassin taking one last look at its victim. Macready angled the _Pillager's_ arms so that his lasers were aimed at the _Valiant's_ cockpit.

"If you've got any last words, I'd say 'em real quick if I was you", he went on in an almost conversational tone.

Philip's mind froze with horror at Macready's words. He couldn't believe the man intended to kill him in cold blood while he lay helpless in his cockpit. Squinting out of the dust-covered canopy, he could just make out the _Pillager_ as a dark shadow against a lighter background. Suddenly he saw a bright flash and for a heart-stopping moment he thought Macready had delivered his coup de grace. Then he realised it was the sun glinting off the pirate mech's cockpit.

An idea struck him. A quick scan of his weapons display told him the twin PPCs in his left arm were still operational. He yanked on his control stick and the arm jerkily moved across to focus on the pirate's cockpit, its damaged actuators screeching in protest. As he did so he tied both weapons to the primary trigger.

In a moment of bravado that he would later cringe at the memory of, he checked his com system was still functioning and that he was also broadcasting on a open frequency.

"You want some last words, Macready? Enjoy your stay in Hell!" Even as he spoke, he was surprised how level and steady his voice was. Philip experienced a moment of complete calm and tranquility, as people sometimes do when they are beyond fear and past caring what happens to them. He closed his eyes and felt himself relax as, without conscious thought, his finger tightened on the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"Target inside minimum range", reported the computer.

"Crap!" Bainbridge swore as the fingers of his left hand danced over the keys of the battle computer, typing in the commands to disengage the PPCs' field inhibitors. These safety mechanisms prevented the particle cannon from being fired at close range, which could damage the weapons.

"Warning, field inhibitors disengaged, weapon damage probable".

Ignoring the computer's warning, he held his breath as his right forefinger squeezed the trigger again.

Macready blinked as he saw the _Valiant's_ arm move, unable to believe what he was seeing. The moment's hesitation was all the time Bainbridge needed. The last thing Springer Macready saw was an actinic blue light that seemed to engulf the entire world.


	13. Aftermath

_High Desert,  
Southern Continent, The Rack,  
The Periphery,  
27th August, 3068_

"Stop right here!" said O'Reilly, putting her hand on the driver's arm.

The groundcar bumped and crunched to a halt on the baking desert plain, throwing up a cloud of sand and rock fragments. Keira slid out and walked briskly over to the downed battlemech that had caught her eye on the drive back to the mobile field base.

Despite the fact it had an arm missing and its torso had been badly mauled by repeated attacks, it was still recognisable. On closer inspection, she could make out the sword-and-diamond insignia on its relatively undamaged remaining arm, which told her this _Crimson Tiger_ was Demi-Precentor Osborne's command mech.

A team of techs worked to cut the cockpit access hatch open, while a medivac crew stood by to administer first aid. Barely a hundred metres away, a VTOL was parked on the sand with its rotors turning, waiting to take the patient back to the sickbay aboard the dropship.

White and orange sparks flew as the tech's vibroblade cut through the armour plating and locking mechanism. Cutting through the hinges, the vibroblade wielder switched off his tool, sheathed it in the scabbard that rode on his back, next to the power pack and signalled to his assistant. Together they heaved the hatch out of its frame and tossed it to the ground.

Keira got as close as she could and waited impatiently as the techs clambered down, signalling to the medics, who rushed forward with a first aid kit and stretcher. One of them leaned into the cockpit, withdrawing after several seconds, shaking her head. Keira's heart skipped a beat and her stomach tightened.

The medic hoisted herself up and crawled inside, reappearing several minutes later, carefully dragging Alan's inert form with her. Osborne stirred and groaned in pain as he was lowered from the cockpit to the stretcher. One of them leaned into the cockpit, withdrawing after several seconds, shaking her head. Keira's heart skipped a beat and her stomach tightened. On impulse, she jogged the short distance from the groundcar and slid between a pair of medics so she could see for herself.

Alan groaned and opened his eyes as a medic carefully removed his cooling vest to examine him for torso injuries. He squinted up at O'Reilly. "Keira…did we win?" he croaked.

O'Reilly gave him a reassuring smile. "Yes, we did. Precentor Bainbridge went one-on-one with the pirate commander and beat him. Robyn and Patrick are negotiating the surrender of the survivors".

Osborne managed a satisfied smile before slipping into unconsciousness.

"Please, ma'am, we need to get him to sickbay ASAP. He has multiple fractures and serious concussion", said the chief medic, staring at her with barely concealed annoyance.

Keira nodded apologetically and stood back to let the medtechs continue their work. After securing the comatose officer to the stretcher and stabilising him, they hustled him aboard the waiting VTOL, which took off as soon as the doors were shut. Shielding her eyes with her hands, she squinted into the dust cloud raised by the aircraft's rotors and followed its flight back to the distant dropship.

Dropping her gaze and scanning the plain, she saw the same scene being played out at dozens of other locations. Warriors being helped from their downed mechs, rescue teams searching for those who'd ejected. The Guards didn't have nearly enough ground troops, techs or medical teams for a clean-up op of this scale. O'Reilly sighed. They would just have to do the best they could.

In the meantime, she had to find Precentor Bainbridge. She turned and began jogging back to the hovercar.

* * *

_High Desert,  
Southern Continent, The Rack,  
The Periphery,  
27th August, 3068_

Precentor Bainbridge stopped wincing and gritting his teeth as the high-pitched screech of the vibroblade ceased. Although normally very quiet tools, they made a hell of a racket when cutting through armour plating. There came the sound of loud banging, as though someone was hitting his mech's cockpit with a sledgehammer. The loud booming noise echoed unpleasantly around the interior of the _Valiant_, further punishing his ears and worsening his pounding headache.

Suddenly, there was a loud clang and a shaft of bright sunlight lanced into the cockpit's gloomy interior. Gingerly craning his neck to look upwards, Philip saw that the access hatch had been cut away. The masked face of a technician peered in at him. "You okay, sir?"

"I think so. My back and neck hurt like hell, but I don't think anything's broken".

The tech nodded. "Glad to hear it, sir. Will you require any assistance in getting out?"

"I'll be fine, thanks".

Bainbridge unbuckled the four-point harness that had saved him from being thrown around the cockpit when his mech had gone down. He tentatively flexed his arms, legs and back. Although very sore, he seemed to be fully mobile. Grabbing hold of the shelf where he normally stored his neurohelmet, he heaved himself out of the command couch, feeling like a monkey clinging to a tree branch.

Bolts of pain suddenly lanced through his already sore neck and back.

"Aaaaaaaah!"

"What's the matter, sir?" asked the tech, in some alarm.

Looking down, Philip realised he'd forgotten to unplug his helmet. The cable had pulled taut and yanked the helmet down on his head and collarbone. His cooling vest was still hooked up to its port on the left-hand console and the biometric sensor pads were still stuck to his arms and legs.

"Nothing", he grumbled, easing back into the couch. "Just going senile in my old age".

Divesting himself of all physical attachments to his mech, he made a rather undignified exit from the machine, sliding out on his back, using whatever hand and footholds he could find. With his head and arms free, he grabbed the radio antenna attached to his mech's head and eased the rest of his body out of the cockpit's stuffy confines. He hung precariously several feet above the desert for several moments, before the aerial, heated by the desert sun, began to burn his hands through the finger-less gloves he always wore. He let go, cursing as he fell, landing awkwardly and twisting his ankle.

"Ow! Dammit! Son of a bitch!" he swore as he spat sand out of his mouth. Pain flared again in his back. His legs suddenly felt unsteady as he tried to get to his feet. As he knelt there, trying to regain his balance, the sound of an approaching vehicle made him look up.

"Precentor!"

Bainbridge squinted into the harsh desert sun, brushing sand from his face as the jeep came to a halt. One of the occupants, a shadowy silhouette, leapt out and ran over to kneel beside him. It was Demi-Precentor O'Reilly.

"Keira! Its good to see you".

"You too, sir", she replied, with barely concealed relief, as she helped him to his feet. Philip was too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice the tears welling up in her eyes.

"I thought you...we didn't know if..." she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"Yeah - I wasn't sure for a while there", he said, staring up at the dust-covered wreck that had formerly been one of the finest assault mechs to be found in the Periphery.

His gaze moved to the statuesque form of the pirate _Pillager_, where it still towered over his fallen mech. The craters in its torso and legs and missing patches of armour on its arms bore mute testament to the ferocity of their battle. He winced as he took in its cockpit...or what was left of it. The close range blast of the twin PPCs had immolated the _Pillager's_ canopy and charred everything inside to black carbon dust. The cooling ferroglass had covered the remains with a black glassy coating. He had never seen anything like it in his life...and never wanted to again.

Averting his eyes, his gaze settled on the _Valiant's_ massive upraised left arm and saw why PPCs were fitted with field inhibitors. Firing them at virtually point blank range had caused a backwash effect, which had melted the ends of the gun barrels into a twisted mess.

Philip shook his head, trying to banish the gloomy thoughts that were beginning to settle on him like a heavy cloak.

"I suppose I'm lucky the bugger didn't fall right on top of me", he said, turning to Keira and gesturing at the pirate mech. "Thats just the kind of..."

He was cut off in mid sentence as Keira suddenly threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Feeling slightly awkward and embarrassed, Philip quickly glanced round to see if anyone was looking. The tech crew that had freed him were nowhere to be seen, having moved on to their next assignment.

The whine of engines filled the air and dust storm erupted as a shuttle landed nearby.

"You've no idea how scared I was Philip", she said, raising her voice to make herself heard. "I thought nothing could be scarier than my first live combat mission, but when I saw your mech go down..."

Her fingers continued to dig into his arms as she stared up at him, tears now openly running down her face. "I thought I'd lost you..."

Philip was so stunned that, for a few moments, the pain of his injuries no longer registered. He stared at her in bewilderment as he struggled for something to say. "Keira...I had no idea..."

O'Reilly gave a small laugh and began wiping her eyes, trying to pull herself together. "Of course you didn't…you're always so busy running the Division...". She smiled sadly, "I know personal relationships are frowned on, especially at command level and as your XO I'm supposed to make things easier for you…not more complicated. That's why I never said anything…but today made me realise I couldn't go on hiding my feelings".

"Keira…I know I've never said this, but you've always been very important to me…and I care a great deal about you…" Philip managed, suddenly feeling quite light-headed and very weak.

"But…?" Keira's big green eyes shone with tears and her lower lip trembled as she tried not to cry again, dreading his next words.

Suddenly, Philip slumped against her and she found herself struggling to hold him upright.

"Philip…Philip…oh my god" O'Reilly looked around frantically for help as she tried to lower the unconscious Precentor to the ground, as gently as possible. Just then, a team of weary-looking, sand-dusted medics exited the shuttlecraft, flown in from the _Indefatigable_ to act as an air ambulance, to tend to the injured commander. They rushed over, bearing a stretcher and first aid kits.

The team leader motioned Keira to get out of the way as the medics ran through their procedures to examine Bainbridge and stabilise him, prior to the trip to sickbay. "Don't worry ma'am, we'll take good care of him", she said reassuringly.

"I'd better come with him", O'Reilly said as she made to follow the medics on board the shuttle.

The chief medic held a hand up to stop her. "With all due respect, ma'am, what you need to do is assume command of the Guards and start planning to get us off this godforsaken rock", she said in her best physician's voice, the one she used when talking to unruly patients who refused their medication.

Keira blinked in surprise at being told what to do by a junior officer.

The shock obviously registered on her face as the medic continued in a gentler tone, "You look in pretty bad shape yourself Ma'am. Seems this has been a rough first deployment for everyone. When we get back to the Indy, I recommend you take an extended leave period".

With that, she moved up the ramp and into the shuttle's bay. The door closed and the craft took off in a blizzard of sand and engine noise.

* * *

_Port Howard spaceport, 150km north of San Carlos  
Port Stanley,  
Outer Colonies,  
Deep Periphery,  
31st August 3068  
_  
General Eriksson pulled her coat tightly round her shoulders as the bitter wind continued to blow down from the mountains. Although they where near the equator, the high altitude made the air thin and bitterly cold.

She could see the fortifications built into Mount Longdon as part of the planetary defence headquarters. Legend had it that the fortress could take a direct hit from a ten-megaton nuclear warhead, while the interior would remain completely intact.

Not that anyone was willing to put such a claim to the test.

CargoMechs worked to finish loading the last of the supplies into the gaping holds of the DropShips waiting to carry the Brigade of Guards to distant Pain. Massive cargo crawlers, bigger than all but the biggest DropShip, moved across the seemingly endless expanse of ferrocrete, carrying anything from supply crates to entire DropShips. Seeing such massive vehicles move was awe-inspiring.

"We've got visitors." Captain Joseph Cook, Eriksson's XO and bodyguard nodded to the small knot of people headed their way from a grounded air car. Seeing the big Maori move was almost like watching one of the cargo crawlers: every movement forced muscles to move out of the way of other muscles. His body was covered in a complex pattern of tattoos made up of thousands of individual lines. Eriksson knew that the application of the tattoos was immensely painful, but once started, it was a matter of honour to see them through to the end.

The approaching group came closer, and Eriksson was not surprised to see Stark standing in the middle. Surrounding her were half a dozen guards in the blood red and black power armour of the Crimson Wraiths, the elite bodyguard of the Council of Eleven. Each guard carried a heavy laser rifle cradled in their arms, and Eriksson knew that there would be others hidden around the spaceport, training sniper rifles on Cook and herself.

"My dear Sara", Stark smiled as she reached the two officers. "Are you ready to boost?"

"Almost" Eriksson nodded, "We've finished loading our Mechs, but it's the rest of the equipment that is taking so long. You wouldn't believe just how much equipment and personnel it takes to put just one Regiment into the field, let alone four. Add to that the extra equipment we need; two complete MASH units, support and repair equipment, JAG officers to deal with any pirates we capture, a small mountain of supplies. I've seen them load more than one 10-ton container of coffee. Coffee! I like a cup as much as anyone else, but tons of the stuff?"

"Even with the Command Circuit, it is a long journey to Pain, and we need to set up a base there. We cannot count on the pirates having what we need".

"Even so, it seems a little excessive".

"I find that most things in life are. Have you worked out the jump sequence?"

"Yes: from here to Vision, then New Jamaica, Fort Centrum and onto Fort Dixie. That's where we'll pick up the Command Circuit to Hunter's Paradise and swap over to the Sir Tristran for the final leg to Pain".

"Excellent. I've already arranged for the 18th Royal BattleMech Brigade to prepare to ship out from New Jersey. They will take longer to reach you, but they will take over any remaining operations and secure Pain as an outpost".

"We should have the planet secured by the time they arrive".

"Then don't let me keep you".

"Madam Chairwoman". Eriksson and Cook saluted before jogging over to their DropShip.


	14. Mutiny

_Entrance to Devil's Canyon,  
High Desert, Southern Continent,  
The Rack,  
The Periphery  
_

"This is Demi Precentor Patrick Donohue, of the Britannia Guards. On behalf of the Regent of the Britannic Coalition, I call upon the commander of the pirate forces to surrender and order your troops to stand down. If we do not receive confirmation of your compliance within the next ten minutes, we will consider your intentions to be hostile and will pursue our attack".

Donohue switched from the open frequency to the one he used to talk to his counterpart from Three Gamma. "Well, Robyn – do you think they'll go for it?"

"They're bottled up like rats in a barrel and outnumbered at least two to one. If I were them, I'd consider surrender to be the smart option", she replied.

"Question is, are they smart enough to realise that?"

"Indeed".

They fell silent, glancing at their wrist chronographs every so often as the seconds ticked by. The desert was remarkably quiet now, save for the odd thumping footfall and whine of actuators as pilots restlessly shifted their mechs.

* * *

_Devil's Canyon,  
High Desert, Southern Continent,  
The Rack,  
The Periphery  
_

"Hawkins – you got a way outta here for us yet?" Hendricks asked impatiently.

The lance he'd detailed to open a path through the rock-fall had been working for nearly quarter of an hour with no discernible results. Several of the pilots with jump-capable mechs had tried to leap up the man-made landslide, only to lose their footing on the unstable surface and come crashing down into the canyon, damaging their machines. A few of the lighter mechs, with greater jump ranges had actually managed to clear the massive obstruction. Their pilots had promised to return with help, but Hendricks doubted they would. In any case, the last broadcast had rendered any such help moot. If they weren't out of here in five minutes, those blasted off-worlders would come right on in and finish the job.

"No, sir – those off-worlder aero jocks dropped a goddamn mountain on top of us!" came the angry and nervous reply. "Its gonna take hours to move enough rocks to clear a path and we can't blast our way out without risking bringing more rocks down on top of us".

Captain Miles Hendricks, former commander of Unlucky 13 Company of Third Battalion and now the de facto commander of the Second Predators, was as scared as he could ever remember being. It wasn't just the two enemy battalions waiting for him outside the canyon, though they were bad enough. It was the enemy within he had to contend with as well. Pirates, by their very nature, were never the most disciplined or patient of people. His troops were becoming increasingly agitated at being bottled up in this canyon, as well as the looming threat of capture. Many of the pirates frequently boasted they would rather die a warrior's death than suffer imprisonment. There was no telling what they might do if their patience was stretched too far.

Still - it was up to him. He had to try and salvage whatever he could out of this nightmare situation. The thought of the remnants of his tired, battered command, throwing themselves at the off-world invaders in a futile gesture of defiance, filled him with anger and a steely resolve that he could not remember experiencing before.

Surprised into action by his newfound determination, he switched his radio to the battalion frequency. "Okay people – y'all heard that last transmission from the off-worlders. We got ten minutes to broadcast our surrender and power down or they come in an' get us. We're down to about a third of our nominal fighting strength and those of us left are damaged and low on ammo. Waitin' outside are over twice our number of enemy troops".

He let that fact sink in for a moment before continuing. "Now I know a lot of you folks would like nothin' better'n to teach these bastards a lesson they won't soon forget…and I know that in these here close quarters, we could put some real hurt on 'em. The question we gotta ask ourselves is…at what price?"

He stopped and waited, expecting an outburst of rabid fury from some of the more hard-bitten pirates, men and women in the mould of Hillard Pearson who would rather fight to the death, than surrender.

To his surprise, the radio net remained quiet, so he continued. "Since, at this moment in time, there appears to be no other way out of our predicament, I propose we accept their terms. Since I can't force y'all to comply, I propose we settle this, all democratic, like and have a vote. All those in favour of surrendering, say 'Aye'".

At first there was nothing but silence on the radio net and for a few moments Miles was afraid he'd misjudged his men. _Are they prepared to fight to the death, after all?_ He wondered. Then, slowly, muttered assents came over the com-link. Naturally, there were dissenters…those who preferred to fight, but their protests were drowned out by the majority, who apparently preferred incarceration to a pointless death.

Hendricks imparted a few more words of wisdom to quell any doubters. "Remember, we can always escape from prison. It's a lot harder to escape from a grave".

This statement seemed to put an end to any lingering arguments and Hendricks used the break in the chatter to continue. "Well now, if y'all are agreed, I shall issue our formal response".

He switched to the open frequency used by their assailants. "This is Captain Miles Hendricks, acting commander of the Second Regiment of Pearson's Predators. On behalf of…"

He broke off as a threat warning lit up on his console. _Someone was targeting him!_

Miles never got to utter another word as a gauss slug obliterated his _Grasshopper's_ cockpit.

The pilot-less machine froze in place, tendrils of smoke rising from destroyed electrical systems. There were several seconds of shocked silence on the radio net as the pirates tried to comprehend what had just happened.


	15. Assuming Command

_Devil's Canyon,  
High Desert, Southern Continent,  
The Rack,  
The Periphery _

"You _loco_ son of a bitch, Bergman! What the hell did you do that for?" yelled Captain Angelina "Angel" Mescalero, commander of Castilla Company, Third Battalion.

She'd positioned her mech as far up the side of the canyon as it would go in order to get a better visual fix on their situation. From the corner of her eye, she'd caught the bright blue flash of the gauss rifle's discharge, quickly tracing the source to Sergeant Bergman's _ON-2M_ _Orion_. By the time she'd realised what he was firing at, Miles Hendricks was already dead.

"The yellow bastard was gonna sell us down the river, Angel!" snarled Luther, one of a handful of survivors from Auger Company. "We're the Predators – we don't back down from no-one, right?" he demanded of the motley assortment of surviving pirates.

There was a hesitant muttering over the radio net from some of the more militant pirates and Luther took encouragement from it. "To me Predators!" he cried, "Lets show these bastards how pirates fight!"

Angel had never particularly liked Hendricks, sharing Macready's assessment about his stomach for a fight, as well as his command abilities. However, like any good gambler, she knew when to cut her losses. It had been clear to her that this was one trap they couldn't fight their way out of…then Luther had gone and screwed things up.

Quickly scanning her sensor readouts, she saw a number of mechs moving towards Bergman's position.

'_That pendejo will get us all killed!'_ she thought.

"Bergman, power down your mech and dismount – that's an order, _Sergeant_!" Angel snapped, careful to emphasise his rank.

"Make me, _bitch_!" came back the arrogant reply.

"Don't say I didn't warn you. You know the penalty for insubordination, _hijo de puta_!" Angel snarled, torso-twisting and bringing the right arm of her _Awesome _AWS-8Q to bear on the _Orion_ – a relatively new design, salvaged from a raid on a Marik border world, several years ago.

One of her mech's torso-mounted PPCs had been destroyed during the battle with the off-worlders. Nevertheless, she unleashed twin streams of ionised destruction from her remaining particle cannon at Bergman's mech. The azure beams entered a gaping hole in the _Orion's_ torso, where one of the LRM launcher's CASE panels had vented an ammo explosion.

Smoke began pour from the ragged opening, quickly followed by orange and yellow tongues of flame. The _Orion_ took a halting step forward, then stopped. Its gauss rifle arm still raised in the direction of the fallen _Grasshopper_, sagged to the ground. Over their private radio link, Angel could hear warning alarms going off in Luther's cockpit.

"You crazy bitch!" he screamed at her. "I'm gonna…"

Angel never found out what he planned to do as the _Orion_ gave an ominous creak and slowly toppled forward like a felled redwood. In a cruel twist of fate, it fell face forward, the mech's head smashing against a large boulder, obliterating the cockpit.

She was suddenly aware of cries of anger on the radio net. Her peripheral vision caught the dazzling ruby lances of lasers aimed in her direction. Her _Awesome_ rocked as autocannon rounds found their mark. '_Madre de dios!'_ She thought, '_This cannot be happening!_

"To me Castillas", she cried, looking around desperately for cover, while trying to identify her assailants. Half a dozen mechs began to converge on her position.

"Esta bien, mi capitano", called a familiar voice, "I have your back".

Angel felt a surge of relief as she recognised the voice of Lieutenant Gabriel Arteta. As she watched, he fired his _Blackjack's_ large lasers at an unseen target. Other mechs from Castilla Company began to form up on her and return fire. The skirmish quickly escalated into a full-blown battle between the remnants of Angel's Castillas and combined elements of Auger and Buffalo Companies. Those in the faster, lighter mechs fought running battles between the house-sized boulders dotted around the canyon floor. The larger mechs simply stood and slugged it out.

* * *

_Entrance to Devil's Canyon,  
High Desert, Southern Continent,  
The Rack,  
The Periphery  
_

The sounds of battle reverberated along the canyon walls, carrying easily to the external microphones of the Guard mechs at the canyon entrance.

"What the hell is going on in there?" wondered de Chastelaine, frowning as she tried to position her mech for a better view into the canyon's shadowy depths.

"Sounds like our friends are having something of a disagreement", replie Donohue over their private channel, sounding equally bemused.

He switched frequencies to his company command channel. "Adept Townsend, have one of your lance commanders send a scout in".

"Aye, sir".

"Tell them this is strictly reconnaissance. If they are spotted, they're to withdraw immediately".

"Understood sir".

An uncomfortable quarter of an hour passed before Donohue's radio crackled into life again. "Sir, our scout reports the pirates are engaged in a full scale battle with each other…there are downed mechs and debris everywhere. They said it was impossible to tell who's shooting at whom – let alone whether anyone has the upper hand". Townsend sounded completely nonplussed and Patrick couldn't blame him.

"Thank you Adept", he replied, before switching channels.

Donohue relayed the information to de Chastelaine over their private channel. Robyn clapped a gloved hand over her neurohelmet's visor and shook her head. "Unbelievable! What do we do now?" After a moment's reflection, she added, "What are we going to tell the Precentor?"

"First things first, Rob", Donohue replied soberly. "I think our first priority is to figure out how to get the situation under control".

As they were discussing their next move, they gradually became aware of a new sound…or rather a lack of it.

"Its gone awfully quiet in there. Do you suppose that's a good sign?" asked de Chastelaine, breaking off in mid-sentence.

"You mean have they all killed each other, so we won't have to bother with the prisoner evac?" Donohoe chuckled.

"Very funny", Robyn responded with an exasperated sigh. "If they have, we've got some serious explaining to do".

Suddenly everyone's radios crackled to life as a new voice began broadcasting on an open frequency. "This is Captain Angelina Mescalero, commander of Castilla Company, Fifth Battalion of Pearson's Predators". She sounded exhausted and in pain, but her voice remained steady. "I wish to offer the unconditional surrender of all our remaining forces. We will be exiting the canyon in the next few minutes. Please hold your fire".

The two Guards officers stared at each other from opposite sides of the canyon entrance. Although unable to see each other through the polarised ferroglass canopies, they shared a single thought.

Robyn was first to react. "This is Demi Precentor Robyn de Chastelaine of the Britannia Guards. On behalf of our commanding officer, I accept your surrender. I will instruct our forces to pull back. An escort will be detailed to take you to our field base and our medics will be alerted to stand by to receive casualties".

After receiving acknowledgement from Captain Mescalero, Donohue interrupted her train of thought with a call on their private channel. "Hey, no fair Rob – I wanted to take their surrender!"

Robyn laughed. "Tough luck, Pat. Tell you what – I'll let you call the _St James_ and give the Precentor the heads up. Meanwhile I'll take the Third and find another route through the mountains. According to intel, the Predators' base is about twenty kilometres northwest of here. The briefing did say we were to locate the base, liberate any prisoners and salvage anything that might be of interest".

"Some people have all the fun!" grumbled Donohue. "I hope our esteemed leader has a plan for accommodating all our new guests?"

"The trip home will certainly be quite cosy, won't it?"

"Maybe we'll have to share a cabin?" said Patrick, a hopeful tone in his voice.

"In your dreams, Pat!" Robyn teased.


	16. The Road to Oz

_Dropship_ St James, _Guards'_ _Field Base,_

_High Desert, Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery,_

_28 August, 3068_

It had just gone midnight, local time, when the communications officer gently shook O'Reilly's shoulder, rousing her from a fitful slumber.

"Ma'am, there's a call from Demi Precentor Donohoe. He's bringing in the prisoners and wants to know what he should do with them once he gets here".

Keira gazed up at the Acolyte through half-closed eyes, trying to bring her thought into order. Since Precentor Bainbridge had been extracted from his ruined mech and brought into the dropship's sickbay, over eight hours ago, she had taken over command of the Guards. It was only then that she had truly begun to appreciate the burden under which he laboured. A seemingly endless stream of requests, both personal and professional, decisions to be made and reports to be read had taken their toll. On top of that, Keira had been driving the medics to distraction in sickbay, visiting Philip as often as her crowded schedule allowed. In the last two days, she estimated she'd managed about six hours' sleep.

The Precentor's injury list had been lengthy. Displaced vertebra, minor neural damage, multiple leg and chest fractures, ligament and muscle damage. The worst had been the discovery of a minor brain haemorrhage, which had caused swelling, as well as a small blood clot. The surgeons had operated as soon as it was safe to do so and his condition, though critical, was reported to be stable. It would, however, be several months before he returned to active service.

Wearily, Keira hauled herself out of the bridge command chair, where she'd fallen asleep and followed the ensign over to the communications console. Out of sympathy, the young officer remained standing, letting her have his seat. She slipped on a headset and punched the button indicated by the ensign to establish the link. Donohue was using a video link, often preferred in non-combat situations to audio-only transmissions. There was a slight hint of static and his helmeted head moved jerkily as his _Vanguard_ mech plodded steadily along. "Command to Emerald Six, report your status".

Donohue looked surprised, "Demi Precentor O'Reilly", he said, careful to observe protocol on an open channel. "I take it our commander is indisposed?" He noted the pained expression on her face as she replied.

"You could say that, Patrick. He suffered serious injuries in his fight with the pirate commander. He's to be transferred to the _Indy_ as soon as his condition allows. Their medical facilities are much better equipped to deal with his kind of injuries". She paused and Pat could see her struggle to regain her composure. "Until such time as he is able to return to duty, I am taking command of the Guards".

Donohue nodded soberly, before replying, "Does this mean we have to address you as Precentor now, ma'am?" he asked, risking a minor impertinence.

His irreverence caught O'Reilly off-guard. She laughed in spite of her obvious distress, "Very funny. No - there'll be no field promotion for me…not yet anyway". She smiled at the image on the monitor. "Thanks – I needed that".

Donohue forced a grin of his own. "No problem Keira…now do you have any idea what we're going to do with the four dozen, dirty, nasty, ill-mannered pirates I'm herding your way?"

O'Reilly's expression grew icy cold. "I know what I'd like to do to them".

Pat nodded agreement. "The feeling's mutual, but unfortunately we are sworn to abide by the Ares Conventions".

O'Reilly sighed, "Well, we certainly don't have room for them here. I'll call the Indy and see if they can't release another shuttle. We ought to be able to ferry them up in one go…I just hope the Indy's brig has enough room. In the meantime, I don't want those pirates getting too close to the field base in their mechs. Have them stop and dismount two kilometres out. I'll have our ground detachment meet them with some APCs to bring them in".

Donohue nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me. We're currently five klicks west of your position. We'll meet the ground troops at Nav Point Epsilon. Sending co-ordinates now…ETA six minutes".

* * *

_Mountain Range,_

_High Desert, Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

Robyn de Chastelaine lit her _Taurus Prime's_ jumpjets yet again to clear another rocky ridge, impatient to find the exit of the seemingly endless mountain pass. Somewhere on the other side of the mountains was the main desert road that would lead them to the Predators' base.

Her heart leapt into her mouth briefly as the ground fell away on the other side in a thirty-metre drop. Keeping her finger on the trigger, she let her jumpjets burn an extra few seconds to slow the 70-ton mech's fall, still making a harder landing than she would have liked.

"Watch it guys – bit of a drop past the ridge just ahead", she warned over the general frequency. She made a mental note to have a word with her scouts about reporting on the terrain as well as enemy units.

Just then her radio crackled to life. "Black Dog One to Athena, terrain opening out. The mountains pan out into a desert plateau about half a kilometre ahead. I can make out the highway from here…looks like we've found the road to Oz".

Robyn smiled at the scout lance leader's use of the nickname they'd given the pirate base. "Copy that Black Dog One. Hold position at Nav Point Delta while the rest of us catch up". Switching to the Level III command channel she issued a catch-up order to her unit commanders. "Okay ladies and gents, it seems there's light at the end of the tunnel. Round up any stragglers and make for Nav Delta. Be careful with your head counts – we don't want to leave anyone behind in here".

* * *

_Badlands,_

_High Desert, Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

"Athena, this is Black Dog One…looks like we hit the jackpot. There's a large, fortified structure, on an island, in the middle of a large basin. Its about one kilometre southwest of the main highway. Sending co-ordinates now".

After nearly twenty minutes of monotonous plodding through the arid, rocky badlands, de Chastelaine was mightily relieved to finally hear from her scout lance again.

Robyn pushed her _Taurus'_ throttle forward, as the navigation computer read the new co-ordinates and translated them into a new nav point on her HUD, eager to see what her scouts had discovered. A few minutes later, she reached the turn in the river, where it carved through some hills, allowing her to see her objective.

The dried-up riverbed that had, for the most part, followed the course of the desert highway, did indeed veer off to the southwest. As the scout commander had described, it opened out into a deep, shallow-sided depression that presumably had once been a mighty lake. However, any water that had once existed must have long since evaporated under The Rack's fierce sun.

The handful of rocky spires and plateaux that rose from the basin, had once been islands. The engineers who had constructed the base had also had the foresight to link the islands via a network of ramps and roadways, creating a number of separate compounds, easily accessible to the occupiers, yet offering little help to any would-be attackers.

As far as Robyn could see, there was only one road leading to the central compound – the only place from which the other islands could be reached by land. There might be other access routes for jump-capable mechs, but those would take time to find – and taking a tour of the lake bed was not something any pilot would be keen on doing while under fire.

"Athena to Black Dog One: recon the access road and make a note of any defensive emplacements. If you can find a safe route down, scout the lakebed…we don't know if any pirates managed to escape from the canyon. The last thing we want is an enemy lance or two pouncing on us while we're searching the facility".

"Copy that, Athena", Adept Imogen Fletcher grinned behind her neurohelmet visor. Finally, she was getting to lead a recon mission – something she'd trained for, for years, but never had the opportunity to do for real…until now.


	17. Ambush in the Outback

_Badlands,_

_High Desert, Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

"Black Dog Lead to all units: form up on me…I don't want us getting picked off one at a time by any enemy units. Keep your eyes peeled and your sensors active".

Adept Fletcher waited for acknowledgement from the rest of her lance before pushing her _Havoc Prime's_ throttle forward, accelerating up to a cautious 60kph. The terrain was rough here and they had no idea if any pirate units had escaped the canyon trap. Checking her sensor display, she noted the blue triangles, spaced to her left and right at 50-metre intervals. Acolyte Josephine "Josie" Andrews was to her immediate right, piloting a 10-year-old _Beowulf_. The 45-ton mech was not as well armed or armoured as her _Havoc_, but it did carry a Beagle probe…ideal for detecting hidden hostiles in these surroundings.

Beyond Josie, piloting his brand-new _Caracal_ in his customary casual manner, was Initiate Aidan White. Based closely on the Clan _Adder_, the 35-ton machine carried a pair of particle cannon as its main armament - absolutely lethal against light and medium mechs, though their heat build-up and minimum range constraints could be a problem in these tight quarters. On her left, trotted a relatively new _Hussar_, piloted by Initiate Denise "Simba" Lyons. Although light on armour, it possessed incredible speed. Lyons' 400-D model also packed a serious punch, courtesy of the LB10-X autocannon in its centre torso, an ideal weapon in the hilly terrain they were traversing.

Her scout unit was rounded out by a pair of brand new _Raptor RTX1-0A_ light Omnimechs, both piloted by new recruits, whom she had barely had time to get to know. Despite weighing a mere 25 tons apiece, their expensive extra-light power plants enabled them to mount a pair of large lasers. Their usual trio of small lasers had been removed to free up tonnage to add an extra ton-and-a-half to their nominal 4-ton armour allocation. If things got too rough, their pilots would have to rely on their speed, which topped out at 110km/h, to get them out of trouble.

The six pilots instinctively slowed their mechs as they reached the edge of the basin. The ground here was much like the rest of the surrounding area – dusty with lots of loose rocks just waiting to catch an unwary pilot and send their mech tumbling to the bottom. They were about halfway down when their radar displays lit up.

"Uh-oh! Black Dog Four to Lead – enemy lance approaching from our rear…five hundred metres and closing fast!"

Fletcher heard the slight note of panic in Denise Lyons' voice and fought to suppress her own sudden rush of fear. The pirates must have been powered down among the numerous rocky outcrops that lined the approach road to the base. At least one of them must have picked up her lance on passive sensors and given the signal to attack. Now they had the advantage of the high ground, while her lance was caught in the open, on unstable ground, with no cover for several hundred metres in any direction. This definitely wasn't like anything she had encountered in the training simulators!

Just then, her threat indicators lit up, filling the cockpit with their urgent beeping. A fraction of a second later, her mech rocked and stumbled as over a ton of the _Havoc's_ rear armour was vapourised by the twin large lasers of the pirate _Blackjack_ that came sailing over the edge of the basin, riding on the plasma trails blazing from its quad jumpjets.

Blessing her mech's heavy armour, Fletcher yanked hard on her control sticks, bringing her wounded machine around as quickly as it would go, fighting the impulse to light off her own jumpjets to put some distance between her and her assailant. With nowhere to hide it would be a waste of effort. '_Better to stand and fight!'_ she thought. Her battle computer's War Book identified the enemy machine as an old _BJ-1_. Probably has single heat sinks…pulling off that move must've overheated him, she thought. Indeed, she thought she saw thin tendrils of smoke coming from the _Blackjack's_ torso.

The pirate's eyes widened in surprise as he watched his intended victim manoeuvre to face him. He had expected his ambush, concluding with solid hits for both his main weapons in the vulnerable rear torso area, to cripple his opponent. Now his heat warning alarm was going off and his mech responded sluggishly to the controls. He cursed as he realised he was not going to be able to avoid his opponent's riposte. In desperation, he stamped on the pedals to activate his jumpjets again, in the hope of throwing his enemy's aim.

A wave of intense heat flooded the cockpit. Glancing at his HUD he saw his heat scale had climbed into the yellow. He stabbed the button to flush additional coolant through the _Blackjack's_ overtaxed heat sinks and made a mental note to try and leave at least one of these invaders' mechs in salvageable condition.

Imogen cursed as she let fly with both her mech's extended range large lasers, only for her target to suddenly go airborne again. Her mood lifted as the mech faltered in its flight, a shower of sparks and shredded armour arcing from the _Blackjack's_ rear torso. She heard a whoop over the lance's radio channel and realised Denise had tagged the pirate with her _Hussar's _autocannon.

"Nice shot, Simba!" she called out to her lancemate.

"No problem boss – it looked like you could use a hand", Lyons responded.

More shouts came over the lance channel, as Aiden and Jo found themselves under attack. Andrews' _Beowulf _staggered as a pirate _Panther_ unleashed its particle cannon, striking her mech's left torso. A roar overhead caused all the Coalition pilots to scan the sky nervously. A ruby lance reached down from the heavens and struck Aiden's _Caracal_, followed by a pair of short-range missiles. The light mech rocked slightly under the attack, but the effects were more psychological than physical.

"What the hell? Nobody mentioned these pirates had fighters!" he groused over the radio.

"That's not a fighter", said Fletcher in a slightly awe struck voice, "That's a LAM…a Wasp, if I'm not mistaken".

Although the Coalition had begun manufacturing its own LAMs in the last couple of years, they were very expensive and very few in number. Imogen had seen a _Red Kite_ up close, but Land Air Mechs never failed to enthral her, especially when they were going through the conversion process, from fighter to mech, or vice versa. It was her dream to eventually pilot one.

"Where the hell would a bunch of pirates get their grubby mitts on a fancy piece of kit like that?" wondered Aiden.

"God knows. Maybe they got lucky and found an old Brian Cache or something. You've heard the stories about how the Star League left quite a few in this part of the 'Riff…maybe there's a few still waiting to be found".

More shots rocked their mechs as the pirates closed in to press home their attack.


	18. Dogfight

_Badlands,_

_High Desert, Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

"Come on people – this is no time to be sightseeing! Everyone is to target their nearest enemy and stick with them. If we try and bring them down one at a time, we leave ourselves open to flanking and attacks from the rear. We're gonna have to play this one fast and loose", Imogen ordered as she searched for the _Blackjack_ that had targeted her earlier.

Scrolling through her target list, she found the _BJ-1_, four hundred metres to her left. The pirate had used the momentary distraction to put some distance between them and cool off. Now he came at her, both large lasers blazing.

Imogen cursed as her _Havoc_ rocked again, the pirate's attack destroying over a ton of front torso armour. Refusing to panic, she rode out the onslaught and waited until she had a solid lock. Her crosshairs flashed gold, but still she held her fire. She was rewarded when the _Blackjack's_ jump jets fired again. The pirate was using the same tactic he had tried last time, to throw her aim.

_Not this time, mate!_ She thought to herself. Dragging her targeting reticule upward, following the airborne mech, she unleashed both her ER large lasers at the pirate's exposed underbelly.

Both shots landed squarely on the _Blackjack's_ boxy engine compartment. The pirate techs had apparently done a second-rate job replacing the torso armour, because an entire panel burst off, allowing Imogen to follow up with snap-shots from her arm-mounted medium lasers. These were also on target and burned through the unprotected engine casing. The pirate finished his jump, trailing smoke and flames from his centre torso. Alarms sounded in the _Havoc's_ cockpit, warning Imogen that she'd overtaxed the mech's cooling system. The heat wave that washed through the cockpit threatened to overwhelm her, as she reached out and slapped the button to pump reserve coolant into the sizzling heat sinks. Some of it also ran through the tubing woven into her cooling vest, bringing down her dangerously high body temperature.

Gasping in the stifling air and using her wristband to wipe sweat from her face, she worked the controls to drag her sluggish machine around to face her enemy once more, only to find the pirate had popped his mech's hatch and was clambering out onto its shoulder. The _Blackjack_ looked rather forlorn, slumped over with its arms and head angled towards the ground and legs slightly bent, like a puppet with its strings slackened. The pilot, a large, swarthy, bearded man, dressed in scruffy shorts, boots and a rather tatty looking cooling vest, emerged from a hatch under the cockpit, scrambled down the hastily deployed rope ladder and ran for the cover of some nearby rocks.

Just then, a _Javelin_ came hurtling over the edge of the basin, pursued by Aidan's _Caracal_. On seeing the stationary _Havoc_, its pilot fired its quartet of medium lasers, three of which caught the left torso, sloughing off over half a ton of armour. Imogen wrestled with the controls as the sudden weight loss unbalanced her machine.

Over the com-link, Imogen heard Aiden's snarl of anger at seeing his commander fired upon. He fired both the _Caracal's_ particle cannon, flaying the light armour off the pirate mech's left leg and eating into the internal structure. The _Javelin_ went only a few more steps before the leg buckled, sending it crashing to the ground.

Acolyte Andrews gritted her teeth as the enemy _Panther_ caught her _Beowulf _with a shot from its PPC. The pirate was playing it smart. Outmanoeuvred by her faster mech, he was negating her advantage by playing a game of hide-and-seek among the rock spires that lined the approach to the base. Every so often, he would jump onto a spire and loose off a shot from either his particle cannon, or short-range missile launcher, then disappear again.

Realising the pirate would pick her mech to pieces at this rate, she decided it was time to go on the offensive. Stamping down on the jump pedals, she sent the _Beowulf_ soaring into the shimmering desert air on blazing trails of plasma. Before she reached the rocky perch she had selected as a lookout spot, the _Panther_ suddenly reappeared on her radar display. Previously hidden by a long, jagged outcrop, her opponent was suddenly below her, less than a hundred metres to her north.

Josie abruptly lifted off the pedals, cutting the jump jets and the _Beowulf_ began to plummet towards the ground at a dangerously fast rate. She steeled herself, trying to resist the impulse to light them again, knowing she needed to make herself as hard a target as possible. With just 25 metres to go, she finally stamped down again, praying she hadn't left it too late. Seconds later, she hit the ground with a bone-shaking thud in the tight confines of the miniature valley formed by the rock formations. Slightly disoriented, she allowed her mech to stumble, hitting the far wall, throwing her even further off-balance. In desperation, she shoved the throttle forward all the way and wrested with the controls, hoping that momentum would keep her upright.

For a few seconds, her gamble seemed to pay off and had the added bonus of making the pirate miss with his SRMs. Her haphazard movement broke his target lock and they exploded harmlessly against the ravine wall. However, her mech's feet found more patches of loose rock, skidded and the _Beowulf_ went down hard.

A split-second glance at her damage display told Andrews there was nothing she could do to stop herself falling. Instead, she let go of the controls, braced herself in her command couch and gripped her harness as tightly as she could. The _Beowulf_ managed one more drunken step, before it crashed to its knees. As it fell, it hit a boulder, which twisted it onto its side, sliding along the ravine floor for several metres, ploughing a furrow in the dirt, until all its kinetic energy had dissipated. She could both hear and feel her mech being battered by the ravine's hard rock floor. Although a couple of spiderweb cracks appeared in the cockpit canopy, it remained intact. She was shaken violently in her command couch and pain lanced through her shoulders and torso as her harness straps dug into her.

Momentarily stunned, she lay there, helpless, as the pirate closed in, multiple warning alarms sounding and lights flashing unheeded on her console. As her head cleared and the pain began to subside, she became aware of the ground shaking and felt the vibrations of mech footfalls behind her.

A cursory glance at her instrument panel, told her the situation was bad. With the torso taking the brunt of the impact, the cockpit was relatively intact. Although the ferroglass canopy was cracked in several places, there appeared to be no actual breaches, however, the myriad lights blinking on the console and HUD warned of multiple system failures.

The sound and feel of more rapid, heavy footfalls, made her start. With her sensors damaged, she had no idea what or who was behind her. Fearing more pirates were about to gang up on her, she grabbed the controls and desperately worked the foot pedals, trying to bring the _Beowulf_ upright. As the mech rolled onto one side, she was able to make out the shapes of the two _Raptors_, through the dusty, cracked ferroglass, as they sped past, opening fire on the _Panther_.

Panicked by the sudden appearance of the two Guards mechs, the pirate began to back away, trying to open up the distance to allow him to use his PPC. The small valley was narrow and had no convenient openings for him to duck out of the way. Looking upwards he cursed as he saw the walls were now too high for him to jump. This limited his options to just one. Recklessly he fired his particle cannon anyway, even though both targets were inside the minimum safe range. He managed to avoid damaging his weapon, but failed to hit either opponent, the Cat's Eyes 5 targeting system unable to compensate for the _Raptors_' rapid advance at this range.

The _Raptors_ continued their relentless advance, firing alpha strikes at their cornered prey, their paired large lasers inflicting severe damage to the _Panther_. Seeing her comrades' shots strike home caused Josie to let out an involuntary whoop of triumph and relief.

The pirate managed to loose off another volley from the _Panther's_ SRM4 launcher, the missiles all impacting on the lead _Raptor's_ right torso, destroying much of the armour there. Another snapshot from its particle cannon caught the farthest mech in the left torso, obliterating the armour and starting an internal fire.

Undeterred, the Coalition pilots pressed home their attack, their lasers carving ugly scars in the _Panther's_ armour. One shot hit the pirate mech's SRM rack, detonating one of the remaining missiles. The resulting chain reaction, as the rest of the launcher's ammo exploded, blew a hole in its centre torso, destroying the gyro stabiliser. With no means of keeping balanced, the pirate mech slowly toppled to the ground.

Having, with great difficulty, got her _Beowulf_ on its feet again, Josie had an excellent view of the action. She was just about to try her radio to thank the _Raptor_ pilots, when both mechs executed smart about-turns and sped out of the ravine, one trailing smoke from its torso. Staring after them in surprise, she tried to shrug and winced. Sore and shaken, but otherwise unhurt, Josephine Andrews set about extracting herself from her mech.


	19. Final Hurdle

_Dry Lake,_

_High Desert, Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

The _Wasp_ pilot, on seeing his comrades' mechs disabled or otherwise out of the fight, decided to make a break for it and headed for the island in the middle of the dry lake bed at full throttle.

"Dammit! He's getting away!" called Aidan over the lance's com-link. He fired first one then his other particle cannon at the fleeing pirate but the LAM jinked smartly, avoiding both shots.

"Don't worry – he's not going anywhere", called Lyons, seeing the airborne mech heading straight towards her.

Again, her _Hussar's_ LB-10X autocannon roared and belched flame, sending an expanding ball of cluster munitions at the pirate. They peppered the left-hand bank of jump jets that served as the machine's engines in fighter mode, ripping through the light armour and causing internal damage. They exploded as leaking fuel was ignited by the hot exhaust gases and the LAM began to fall, spiralling out of control as the uneven thrust robbed it of any stability. Denise, Aidan and Imogen could only watch as the pilot wrestled with the controls in a futile attempt to avert disaster. It plunged in a steep arc, trailing smoke and flame, into the base's main access bridge, just a few hundred metres northwest of where they stood. It utterly destroyed the structure, leaving a twenty-metre gap in the road surface and continued to plummet until it hit the dry, cracked lake bottom, where it left a large muddy crater. Smoke and fire continued to pour from its damaged engines but no catastrophic explosion followed.

"He didn't punch out", said Lyons quietly.

"G forces probably pinned him down", said Fletcher shortly. "Besides, he couldn't keep it upright…he never really had a chance".

Imogen realised Denise was probably a little shocked at having made her first kill. "It was a good shot Den…you weren't to know how it'd turn out. Anyway, you can't always take 'em down quick and clean. Sometimes, its…" she trailed off, not quite knowing how to finish the sentence.

She shook her head, realising that they still had a mission to finish. Doing a quick head count she came up one short. "Sergeant Andrews, what's your status?"

So intent was Josie on checking the _Panther's_ pilot that she didn't hear the beeping of her personal com unit for several minutes and Fletcher had to call repeatedly before she answered. "Andrews here…sorry sir", she finally replied, somewhat embarrassed. "I tangled with a Panther in the rocks…my mech's pretty badly damaged but still mobile. I'm okay, but I'm afraid I won't be much further use on this mission".

Fletcher's heart sank a little on hearing that. They still had not scouted the pirate base and there was no telling what they might find there. "Copy that Jo. How's the pirate?"

"He's out cold, but he's breathing. I haven't moved him, in case he's got internal injuries".

"Very well", replied Imogen, annoyed but relieved Andrews was unhurt. "Call Command and have them send a medivac crew. Follow them back to the RV point. In the meantime we're going to recon the base and see if we can find a way in".

"Roger that – be careful, sir".

It was one of the BCAF's peculiar customs that female officers were addressed as, "sir", by their junior counterparts. Male personnel used the more traditional, "ma'am".

"Don't worry Jo, I've had enough surprises for one day", replied Fletcher, cutting the link and glancing around to get her bearings.

Glancing through her HUD's magnifier at the still-smouldering wreckage of the _Wasp_, she cursed as she realised they would have to take the long way up. Selecting her lance's command frequency, she activated her radio again.

"Okay people, that's the guard force out of the way…now let's go and introduce ourselves. Stay alert…those Star League engineers knew how to build defensive emplacements, there's no telling what we might come up against up there."

She gave a wry smile as Aidan and Denise responded enthusiastically, forming up fifty metres either side of her, as they moved at cruising speed towards the nearest ground-level access ramp. If curiosity killed the cat, then eagerness would likely get these two hung, drawn and quartered. Checking her radar display, she noted two fast-moving blue dots, denoting the pair of _Raptors_, closing up to take the rearguard position on the formation. Moving at her _Havoc's_ top speed of 86kph, they crossed the dry lake in a matter of minutes and soon stood at the base of the main island.

The islands themselves were forbidding, with any number of niches in which enemies could lurk unseen. There were also numerous weapon emplacements, but the laser and missile turrets did not register as threats on their sensor readouts, their launchers and gun barrels remaining silent as the Coalition mechs came within range.

"What…no welcoming committee?" said Aidan, his disappointment almost convincing.

"They probably didn't have the resources or know-how to keep the fortress' defences operating. God knows, it was probably derelict long before the pirates found it", replied Imogen.

They had negotiated the hilly road to the main compound and were approaching the entrance…and still there was no sign of any pirate activity.

"I don't like it…its too quiet", said Denise.

Fletcher had to stifle a laugh at the cliché. "Its okay Simba, I think this is one of those times when things are…"

Just then the courtyard erupted. From numerous concealed positions, laser fire lanced towards them, man-portable SRMs streaked on trails of smoke and flame and brilliant azure particle beams crackled across the intervening space. The three pilots instinctively headed for the nearest cover, fighting to keep their mechs upright, as the barrage of weapons fire engulfed them. Berms, hillocks and outbuildings afforded them some protection, but they couldn't hide for long. If they wanted to take this fortress, they would have to flush out the defenders and subdue them.

"Bloody hell…I was hoping it wouldn't come to this", said Imogen, panting slightly, her heart still racing after the shock of the sudden onslaught.

"What do we do now, sir…call in the cavalry?" asked Lyons.

Fletcher didn't respond immediately. Forcing herself to calm down, she used the few precious moment to think of a way of rooting out the defenders that wouldn't leave the base in ruins. Scanning her damage display, ignoring the damage taken in her duel with the _Blackjack_, she saw most of the previously green segments had now turned yellow. She had taken quite a few hits, but most of the damage was superficial. It seemed the barrage of fire had been a last-ditch attempt to scare them off, rather than an effective, co-ordinated defensive ploy.

Deciding that there were unlikely to be any more nasty surprises after this, she activated her radio, selecting the Level III command channel. "Black Dog Six to Vanguard Six, report one enemy lance destroyed or disabled. We're at the main compound, facing pockets of resistance from a small number of armour units and ground troops, armed with man-portable weapons".

"Copy that Black Dog Six. Do you require assistance?"

Imogen considered this for a moment. "Uh, negative, sir, we should have taken care of them by the time you get here, but I'd advise you to get some infantry up here as soon as possible, so we can secure the perimeter and begin a sweep of the base".

"Roger that. Anything else?"

"Yes, they'll need to bring some engineers…a pirate LAM took out the main bridge when we brought him down".

"Acknowledged - Vanguard Six out".

Adept Fletcher gave a slight grimace as the link was cut. Her commander wasn't the most talkative of people. Still he probably had enough on his plate right now. She switched channels to the Level II command frequency.

"Six to all units, status report", she asked her remaining troops.

"Not too bad boss. Minor damage pretty much everywhere, but nothing serious", replied Denise.

"Barely a scratch, ma'am…I'm fine", said Aiden.

The two _Raptor_ pilots called in, Black Dog Four reporting severe torso damage, while Five confirmed he was relatively unscathed.

"Okay then, this is what we're going to do…"


	20. Clearout

_Brian Cache,_

_Dry Lake, High Desert,_

_Southern Continent, The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

The trio of Coalition mechs broke from cover, Lyons' _Hussar_, by far the fastest of them, sprinting ahead and drawing the bulk of the enemy fire. White and Fletcher followed more slowly, targeting the pirate positions and sending volleys of laser and PPC fire into them. It was a very one-sided fight, even with the half-dozen or so armoured vehicles, the pirates had held in reserve until now. While the ground troops' portable weapons slowly whittled away the mechs' armour, every burst of fire from the _Havoc_, _Caracal_ and _Hussar _destroyed another defensive emplacement, killing or scattering the pirates manning them. The pilots, in fact, had to exercise considerable restraint, as it would have been easy to simply level the smaller structures that made up the outer part of the compound.

Even so, the assortment of light and medium tanks contrived to cause as much destruction to their own side, as to the Coalition mechs. They drove haphazardly, firing wildly, driving into or hitting their own forces as often as they hit the enemy. In short, they ensured their own defeat.

After a short but brutal battle, the surviving pirates realised the hopelessness of their situation and they began to walk slowly from their positions, into the centre of the compound, hands raised and sullen expressions on their faces. The surviving vehicles halted in place and their crews bailed out. Herd mentality took over and they followed their comrades, sitting on the ground in the open space in front of the main entrance, hands on heads, awaiting their fate.

"Six to all units – cease fire. Looks like they've had enough!" called Fletcher over the command channel, when it became clear that the pirates' resistance had been broken. "Find yourselves good defensive positions around the compound and stay alert. I don't expect any more trouble, but we don't want to start taking anything for granted".

Gradually, the sounds of battle diminished, until all that could be heard were the crackling fires that dotted the compound, punctuated by the odd explosion, as fuel or ammunition cooked off, or the crash of a structure collapsing.

Checking her mech's status, Imogen saw that her _Havoc Prime_ had sustained significant additional damage in their final assault. _'Just as well it's over'_, she thought ruefully. _'Another back shot could finish me off!'_ The _Blackjack's_ ambush had done more damage than she'd originally realised.

Aiden reported only cosmetic damage to his _Caracal_, while Denise Lyons, whose lightly-armoured _Hussar_ had been the focus of most of the enemy's attention, reported heavy armour loss and a damaged leg actuator, which reduced her mech's top speed by nearly half.

Her radio suddenly crackled to life, making her jump. "Gatecrasher Six to Black Dog Six, we are on site and ready to begin our sweep".

Looking out of her cockpit's ferroglass canopy, she could see a column of tanks and APCs, carrying the Guards' infantry units. Following close behind were the support vehicles of the tech crews.

"Copy that, Gatecrasher. Will you require us to remain on station until you're dug in?"

Before he could reply, a new voice cut in. "That won't be necessary, Adept Fletcher", said a voice Imogen recognised instantly as that of III Gamma's commander, Demi-Precentor Robyn de Chastelaine.

Setting one of her secondary displays to show the feed from her rear camera, Imogen saw the leading elements of III Gamma exiting the rock field and approaching the lake's southern shore.

"You and your unit have done an outstanding job, Adept. We're setting up a mobile field base and repair gantry here. Head in to get your mechs fixed up and use the downtime to get some R&R - you've earned it".

"Aye, sir – II Epsilon is headed in for refit". She hesitated a moment. "Sir, is there any news about Acolyte Andrews?"

"A medivac VTOL is already bringing her…and her prisoner in".

Adept Imogen Fletcher smiled as she pushed her throttle forward and wheeled her mech around for the march back.

* * *

_Northern Wastelands,  
Pain,  
The Periphery,  
31st August 3068  
_  
Captain James Howlett crawled forward as quietly as he could, keeping down to avoid silhouetting himself against the grey sky. Each move was slow and deliberate. The optics in his power armour's helmet overlaid a map of the surrounding area, based on information from the stealth spy satellite that had been inserted into orbit during their approach.

His unit's AM9D _Ung Tae_ Assault Ship had been escorted in by a trio of _Wataru_ long-range gun-ships, but appeared to have arrived unnoticed. Camouflaging their ships as best they could, they had slowly advanced until they were in striking distance of the pirate base.

Slowly raising a fibre-optic probe, Howlett scanned the area ahead. A number of pirates where chasing a group of slaves who had managed to escape somehow. The unfortunate slaves, all dressed in little more than rags, were on foot, while the pirates chasing them had ground effect craft. The vehicles looked like a collection of captured civilian craft pressed into service and jury-rigged with improvised weapons. As he watched, one of the escaping slaves tripped on a rock and fell. Another immediately stopped to help, but before they could, the pursuing pirates had surrounded them both.

Zooming in, Howlett could see that the slave who had tripped was a young woman, barely out of her teens. The one who had stopped to help her was an older man, with greying heir. He stood defiantly over his companion as the pirates advanced on foot, weapons at the ready.

Howlett saw the muzzle flash a split second before the report echoed across the low canyon. The male slave's body danced as he was hit from several sides by fully automatic gunfire. Blood spurted from several holes in his torso, before he slowly sank to his knees and collapsed to the ground, dead.

The pirates advanced on the young woman, who was now visibly shaking and crying. He read the evil intent in their posture and body language as they approached her.

"Bollocks to this!" he growled.

Howlett clicked the transmit button on his com system three times in quick succession. He was rewarded a few seconds later by two quick clicks, a pause and then two more clicks.

Moments later, four of the pirates jerked violently, before falling to the ground, like puppets with their strings cut. The others looked round in surprise and confusion, which quickly turned to fear. Two more fell without making a sound, jolting the surviving six into action, running for the supposed safety of their parked vehicles.

They never made it. The snipers knew their trade well and the pirates died sudden, violent deaths.

"Area is secure, sir", reported Sergeant Ophelia Dundee, Howlett's second in command.

"Ok, go round up the other escaped slaves and have Doc look at them", said Howlett slowly standing, keeping his own weapon at the ready. "I'll go get the girl and make sure those bastards are all dead".  


* * *

_OCS _Sir Tristran  
_Nadir Jump Point,  
Hunters Paradise,  
6th September 3068_

The dropship lurched as it made contact with the docking collar, locking the smaller craft onto the outer hull of the massive transport.

It had taken almost two dozen jumps, in quick succession, to move the entire Brigade of Guards from the distant Outer Colonies to its current location and the long trip was beginning to take its toll on the troops. Several had been hospitalised due to jump-sickness, but the doctors were confident that they could have everyone back on their feet by the time they reached Pain.

The latest intelligence reports indicated that there was only a single battlemech regiment on planet, supported by an unknown amount of armour and infantry. There were also the heavy fortifications built by the original SLDF. However, they had been stripped of their original weapons long ago and anything put in their stead would be jury-rigged at best.

General Erickson looked at the map in the holo-tank before her, studying the terrain. Pain was an inhospitable planet, covered in harsh mountains and battered by strong winds. What little plant life there was, had clustered around the planet's few small seas and lakes. There had evidently once been plans to terra-form the planet, back before the fall of the Star League, but apparently only the initial steps had been taken.

A large red dot marked the location of the former SLDF supply base that the Extractors were known to be using as their primary base of operation. Other markers indicated smaller observation outposts, the only known spaceport on the planet and some rudimentary habitation buildings.

"I suppose just bombing the bastards from orbit is out of the question?" She asked, only half rhetorically.

"I'm afraid so". Rear Admiral Wolf shook hear head, "although nothing would give me more pleasure than to drop a few megatons on top of them, there are just too many civilians in the base to allow us that option. I'm afraid that this little job is down to you mud-foots".

"Battlemechs will be of no use once we force them back into the bunkers and we don't have enough power-armour to send my people in on foot".

"Now there I can help you. We brought the 2nd Battalion of the 95th Rifles with us to provide security for the shipyard we were supposed to be upgrading in the Coalition. I can send them with you. It will mean losing a few assault ships, but I can send the Alexander and Churchill in their stead".

"I was going to ask you to do that anyway…old as they may be, they are still destroyers and pack more firepower than any of the DropShips we have with us. We may need the extra firepower if we run into whoever's behind this".

"1st Cruiser squadron is already on its way. I believe you passed them on the way?"

"Yes, it was an impressive sight".

"They will take over picket duties here and I will move my squadron to support the one going with you as soon as they are on station".

"I shall pray for their speedy arrival".


	21. Hell Uncovered

_Brian Cache,_

_Dry Lake, High Desert,_

_Southern Continent, The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

"Okay ma'am, stand back please", said the Adept technician, ushering her behind the hastily erected safety screen, as the 90-ton _Fusillade_ lumbered into position in front of the fortress' main entrance.

Robyn de Chastelaine worried that this would be a serious case of overkill, but so far the massive armoured gates had resisted the techs' attempts to open them, using cutting torches, vibroblades and even thermite charges.

The Adept paused, listening to something in his headset. He tapped the button to send and said, "Okay – commence firing".

There was a whine of actuators as the _Fusillade_ pilot brought his weapons to bear on the gates. There was a low-pitched hum as capacitors discharged their energy through the laser assemblies, followed by scarlet flashes as the amplified light emerged through the ruby lenses in short bursts and sparks, as the intense beams began to melt the armour plating on the doors.

It took several aimed bursts of fire before the last of the armour protection vapourised and several more to destroy the immensely strong locking mechanism. However, five minutes later, it had been blasted out of its mounting, leaving a roughly circular hole, whose red-hot edge glowed and flickered as it cooled in the faint breeze.

There were a few moments of organised chaos while the engineering unit cleared away the debris left behind. A pair of tracked tanks rumbled up, with one parking along side each door. Their crews jumped out and began hooking up sets of heavy chains to their vehicles, while the other ends were welded to the doors. The vehicle commanders then signalled to each driver, who gunned their engines and began to slowly drive in opposite directions, slowly dragging apart the massive doors, which bore the Cameron Star insignia of the SLDF and the designation BC-10/3.

A platoon of infantry stood at the ready, rifles aimed, as the doors slid open, inch-by-inch. However, by the time the gap had reached ten feet, it was obvious that there were no hostiles on the other side. The tanks continued, until the massive thirty-foot entrance was fully open.

On the other side, a dark, cavernous tunnel awaited them. The infantry hustled inside, taking up defensive positions on either side. Although the harsh desert sunlight illuminated the first twenty metres or so, it quickly dissipated into near-darkness, the further inside they went. The beams from the mag-lites attached to the soldiers' rifles did little to pierce the gloom and they soon resorted to low-light goggles to see to the far end.

De Chastelaine and the rest of her command unit followed at a discreet distance, guarded by a squad of riflemen at the infantry commander's insistence. After the stifling heat of their mechs' cockpits, the mechwarriors welcomed the cool of the fortress' interior.

As they continued, the tunnel sloped noticeably downwards and the air became distinctly chilly. Eventually, it opened out into a huge open space, which even through the grainy, green picture afforded by the low-light goggles, was obviously a mech hangar. One of the troops found the lighting controls and shouted a warning to those wearing goggles, to remove them. Seconds later, large fluorescent lamps in the hangar's high ceiling hummed and crackled to life. Even though only half of them worked, it was still like looking into the sun after the dimness of the tunnel.

Robyn blinked as her eyes became accustomed to the bright white glow. Her mouth opened in astonishment as she took in her surroundings. Standing like giant statues in the mech bays arrayed around the walls, were nearly a battalion's worth of mechs. On closer inspection, many of them turned out to be vintage Star League-era designs. She also noted, with a degree of anger and sadness that the pirates had cannibalised many of them for spare parts, though it appeared that the most commonly missing parts seemed to be actuators, joints, armour and other major mechanical items. Missing arms and openings in many of the chassis denoted the removal of weapon systems and other equipment. Nevertheless, it was a truly amazing sight. She noticed that the rest of her command lance and the ground troops were similarly awed by their discovery.

Giving herself a mental shake and focusing her mind on the mission, she called to Adept Iversen, commander of the infantry detachment.

"We believe the Predators customarily took prisoners and made them slaves. We need to sweep the complex and search for any survivors".

"Ma'am", said Iversen, snapping off a smart salute before heading off to round up his junior officers and plan a search of the facility.

The infantry went through the base, room-by-room, floor-by-floor, with de Chastelaine and her unit in tow. The upper levels revealed little out of the ordinary, although the disorderly, debris-strewn interior showed the pirates had obviously cared little about their surroundings. Everywhere they went, broken or damaged fixtures, fittings and inoperative systems showed the decades, possibly centuries, of neglect.

It was while they were searching one of the lower levels that one of the soldiers in their party came to a stop in front of a large sturdy-looking metal door. Unlike most of the others it was locked. A tech was summoned to examine it. She spent a few minutes examining it before opening a panel, set into it, near the frame. Just above it, a red status light glowed. After a quick inspection of the control system, she reached into one of her coverall pockets and extracted a clear strip of plastic. She inserted it between a pair of contacts and stepped back. There was a series of audible clicks as relays de-energised, breaking the circuit that powered the electromagnetic locking system.

The status light above the panel flashed green and the door swung slowly open on silent hinges. Everyone wrinkled their noses as an unpleasant, unidentifiable smell reached them, together with a blast of cold air. On the other side was darkness, illuminated just enough by the light in the passage, to reveal the top of a staircase that led downwards.

Adept Iversen motioned for a squad of troops to go in and scout the area beyond the door. They paused to check the multifunction gas/radiation meters strapped to their forearms, before disappearing inside. As the others watched, the beams from their flashlights gradually faded into the gloom and the sound of their boots rattling against the metal grating of the stairs abruptly stopped as they reached the floor.

Just a few minutes later, one of the soldiers radioed back. De Chastelaine and several others glanced at Iversen as he listened to his headset. Whatever he was hearing, he didn't like it one bit. Motioning for the rest of his troops to follow, he slung his rifle over his back. As he ran, he tapped the channel selector on his headset until he got the one he wanted.

"Francis, this is Iversen. We need a medical team down here, on the double!" he said, his voice sounding strained. On catching the Demi-Precentor's inquiring glance, he merely shook his head. Robyn's eyes widened slightly in understanding, his grim expression telling her far more than mere words ever could.

The minutes that passed as they waited for the medical team to arrive, felt like an age. When Adept Davina Francis and her team finally reached them, Iversen signalled for the rest of his men to enter the passageway, with the medics following and de Chastelaine and her mechwarriors bringing up the rear. They thundered down the stairs and along a short passageway, before stopping dead in a large open area, with numerous barred doors set into the walls. The scouts were waiting at the far end, their faces masks of shock. One of them had evidently found a light switch as the whole room was bathed in a harsh white light that only served to highlight the tableau of horror and misery that confronted them.


	22. Express Elevator to Hell

_OCS _Sir Tristran,  
_Uncharted System_,  
_The Periphery,  
11th September 3068  
_  
General Erickson gripped the handrail in front of the glowing circle on the floor and slipped her feet into the restraints provided. Taking a deep breath, she flicked the single switch on the bar.

The complex holographic projectors came to life, surrounding her with a wall of light that faded to reveal what looked like a large lecture hall: most of the seats were occupied by the officers and senior NCOs of the units under her command. Also present were Commodore Ross and the captains of the ships under his command.

"I apologise for this rather unusual method of addressing you all, but needs must when the Devil drives." Erickson looked round, knowing that most of the people she was looking at were sat in their quarters, wearing VR helmets and gloves. "In less than one hour, we will be making our final jump, which will bring us into the system known as Pain. There we will encounter an unknown number of pirates, belonging to the band known as Pearson's Predators. We may also find ourselves engaging an unknown number of enemy units with limited Warship support".

"To the best of our knowledge, the hostiles have four operational warships…a Vincent Mk.39 corvette, a Potemkin class troop cruiser and two Whirlwind class destroyers. We don't know why they are here or where they got their ships from, but we do know that both the Whirlwinds and the Potemkin are currently operating in the Wellington system of the Britannic Coalition. At best, we will face a few pirate aerospace fighters. At worst, there may be additional Warships in system that our Pathfinders and the Odin have been unable to detect".

"With this in mind, Admiral Wolfe and I came up with the following plan of attack. We will be entering the system by the same pirate point as the Odin, which has already moved slightly deeper in system to minimise the risk of an 'incident'. The Alexander and Churchill will remain behind to guard the Sir Tristran, while 1st Destroyer Squadron escorts the dropships in system, providing orbital fire support as needed. One ship will be assigned to each regiment. The Idun will support the Grenadier Guards, the Odin the Coldstream Guards, Njord the Irish Guards and the Ull the Highland Rangers. The O'Connor will remain in high orbit, on the edge of the gravity well, to keep watch for anyone making a run to or from the planet".

"I want you all to remember that we are dealing with pirates. I know that many of you, myself included, have been involved in anti-pirate operations in the past, but read this loud and clear…our mission is to completely annihilate the Predators. No quarter is to be given or asked…we take them out hard and fast. The last thing I want is to lose someone because they forgot we're fighting some of the worst scum the human race has ever produced. We are facing approximately one regiment of battlemechs. Many will likely be poorly maintained, but we know some will be Star League vintage. Reports forwarded to us from our allies in the Rim Collection point to a limited amount of Clan-tech, so don't be surprised if you find yourselves up against omnimechs".

"The OCDF is one of the most advanced militaries anywhere. Our technological advantage over the pirates may be immense, but do not…I repeat DO NOT get complacent! The Predators will know that we mean to destroy them and they will fight to the death. They will use any trick or tactic, no mater how low, to try and stop us. We know that they have several hundred slaves captured from other Periphery worlds inside their base. That is why the 2nd Battalion of the 95th Rifles, with the support of the Marines and the Pathfinders, will be attacking the command complex at the same time we take on their forces outside. We cannot let them use their prisoners as human shields…we know they are more than capable of such actions if they get the chance".

"When you return to your units, I want you to tell your subordinates exactly what I've told you here. Now, are there any questions?"

* * *

_Pirate Point, Pain System,  
The Periphery,  
12th September 3068  
_  
Space distorted, was ripped apart and reinstated in the blink of an eye, as the destroyers _Njord_, _Idun_ and _Ull_ jumped in system, less than 2,000km from the _Odin_ and _O'Connor_. IFF codes, passwords and authentication codes were quickly exchanged as weapons were brought to bear and targeting solutions plotted. Moments later, the fabric of space and time was twisted and torn asunder again as the _Sir Tristran_ arrived, followed closely by the _Alexander _and _Churchill_.

The _Sir Tristran_ looked as if it were exploding, as it began to disengage its complement of dropships. Most were mech haulers and other military support ships, but there were also sleek, aerodyne assault dropships, which bristled with offensive weaponry. While the _Alexander_ and _Churchill_ remained on station to cover the _Sir Tristran_, the other warships began to move towards Pain, covering the dropship armada.

* * *

_DropShip _OCS Talavera_,  
Assault Trajectory,  
Pain,  
The Periphery,  
12th September 3068  
_  
The Union class dropship descended rapidly, bucking violently as it hit the invisible wall of Pain's stormy upper atmosphere. The impact almost knocked General Eriksson off her feet. Indeed, if it hadn't been for her lightning fast reflexes, she would have landed quite painfully on the cold metal catwalk leading to her HGN-740 _Highlander_. The mighty BattleMech stood at the ready, still secured in its transport cradle. Saul MacDougal, her personal tech, stood, braced against a support strut, holding her neurohelmet in one large, grizzled hand.

"Good day for a battle, Saul?" Eriksson asked the older man.

"'Tis a good dae fer someone else tae die. Try an remember tha!" The gruff old tech replied, "Canny good luck an' canny good hunting, Sir!"

"I'll do my best". Eriksson smiled as she slipped through the open hatch into the _Highlander's_ boxy head. Despite being in her late forties and having brought three children into the world, she had managed to keep her trim figure through a punishing daily training regime that would have put someone half her age to shame.

Settling herself in the command couch, Eriksson closed and dogged the hatch, over-pressurising the cockpit to check the integrity. Her ears popped slightly as she pulled off her coveralls, revealing her full-body cooling suit below. The garment was Star League vintage, and was several orders of magnitude more effective than any cooling vest. Sensors inside the suit connected to leads coming from the command couch, relaying nerve impulses without the need for adhesive pads. Pulling her neurohelmet on tight to make sure that the sensors pressed against her temples correctly, Eriksson initiated her battlemech's start-up program.

"Primary systems online", the computer's synthesised voice filled the cockpit. "Please input security code to release full control to pilot".

"On my shield or with it", stated the General in a calm voice.

If the code was wrong, the anti-theft protocols would shut the Mech down and lock the hatch closed, turning the cockpit into a prison cell until MacDougal entered his override code from the outside.

"Security code accepted", the computer reported. "Welcome aboard General Eriksson, full control of all systems has now been released to you".

Activating the communications system, Eriksson selected the feed coming from the dropship's bridge. With so many different ships and units taking part in the operation, the general frequencies were filled with voices issuing orders and demanding status reports. Flicking through them Eriksson waited until she found the one that connected the _Talavera_ with her aerospace escorts.

"Talavera, this is Racetrack, we have enemy Triple-A batteries sighted, commencing bombing run now".

"Racetrack, this is Flattop, I have your six. No sign of hostile forces so far".

"Keep an eye out for bandits, Flattop. I don't want to get caught napping because you're sleeping on the job".

"Fireball to all units, I have enemy aerospace assets on radar. Bearing 219, range 80km and closing fast. Still too far out for an ID".

"Fireball, this is Racetrack. Take Caveman, Hooch and Nightmare with you and run interference. Keep those mother-loving sons of bitches away from the dropships!"

"Rodger that, Racetrack. Ok guys, you heard the CAG…let's go smoke us some Pirates!"

A loud klaxon went off, alerting Eriksson that the dropship would soon be at the designated altitude to deploy the drop-pods. They had agreed on a HALO drop, as it would make it harder for ground-based hostiles to target the exposed battlemechs as they made their way down. Eriksson felt her stomach lurch upwards as the clamps holding the drop-pod released. The transit from the dropship to the upper atmosphere of Pain started silently, with only the steady beeping of the drop clock and the ever-changing altimeter to show that any time had passed.

As the atmosphere outside the pod started to thicken, a steady howling grew from barely audible to hurricane-force as the steel and titanium cocoon forced its way through the ever-thickening air. A buzzer sounded, and five seconds later, the cocoon blasted clear of the _Highlander_. The mech continued to fall towards the ground at hundreds of miles an hour. The first drogue parachute deployed and the mech shook as the speed started to bleed off. The micro-chute detached and the General continued her plunge towards the pirate planet. If the Pathfinders had managed to pull off their assigned part of the plan, all the hostile force on-planet would be spread out amid the mountains below.

Eriksson adjusted the controls and her mech slowly spun round as its jump jets fired. She could clearly see the rest of the command lance spread out above and below her falling mech.

A second alarm sounded and the main parachute deployed with a thump. The _Highlander_ shuddered as the acceleration rapidly dropped to zero and the mech's descent started to slow. She eased back on the thrusters, trying to remember the words of her instructor back on New Jersey: keep it steady and try not to land at an angle.

The HUD came alive with contacts on the ground, some the green of friendly units, others the red of the enemy. She immediately broke radio silence. "Command Company, this is Jester, the LZ is hot, I repeat, the pirates are on the ground below us. It looks like they're throwing us a welcome party. Arm your weapons and be ready to come in fighting. Let's lock and load!"

She saw azure PPC bolts shoot forth from Fire Lance's _Excalibur VI_, striking out at targets below...


	23. A World of Pain

_Grenadier Guards LZ,  
Pain,  
The Periphery,  
12th September 3068_

"Command Lance, form up on me!" called Eriksson over the unit frequency, setting her radar to scan for OCDF IFF signals.

"General".

Captain Joseph 'Big Joe' Cook appeared at her side, his Clan-built _Camulus_ ready to get between his commanding officer and danger.

"Little Joe and Danny are 500 meters out and closing. Scout Lance is 5km to our south-east, while Fire Lance is roughly the same distance to our north-west".

"Danny", Eriksson called out, rotating her _Highlander's_ torso so that it was facing the two mechs making their way down a nearby hillside towards them, "Contact Priest and tell him to hold position. Command and Fire Lances will converge on his location. Then tell Ranger to have his people follow us in".

"Aye, Sir!" 2nd Lieutenant Danielle 'Danny' Kelly acknowledged the order, already retuning her radio to the necessary frequencies.

"Little Joe, take point. Big Joe, you're with me. Danny, you have our six. Sing out if anyone we don't know gets between us and Ranger's people". Eriksson set a nav point on her HUD and started her big mech forward at a slow run, its long legs eating up the ground.

"Sir, I'm getting flash traffic from Scout Lance!" Kelly called out, her young voice heavy with concern.

"Sergeant Major Bey reports that Captain Murphy and MechWarrior Lexington have been pinned down by a pirate King Crab. Sergeant Bey and MechWarrior DeSouza are trying to draw it off, but they don't have anywhere near the firepower they need to take it down before it blasts the others to scrap!"

"Command Lance, CHARGE!" Eriksson ordered as she pushed her _Highlander's_ throttle fully open, bringing it up to its top speed of 54kph, Captain Cook easily keeping pace in his lighter, faster _Camulus_.

The Command Lance raced up a steep incline, the feet of their assault mechs digging into the hard rock with every thunderous footfall. Lieutenant Joseph 'Little Joe' Doig reached the lip first, and immediately scanned the area below. A low ridge had hidden the pirate battlemech from both visual and active scans until its pilot had raised it up off of its haunches and opened fire with its huge AC20s. Each weapon was capable of crippling any member of Scout Lance with a single shot, but they were currently silent, as the pilot picked away at the boulder shielding the trapped Guard mechs, with its LRM rack.

It was clear that the pirate intended to force them into the open and then turn its main guns on them as they tried to run. The only other alternative was for the two OCDF pilots was to stand their ground and get pelted with man-sized rocks as their cover was slowly shot to pieces around them.

"How far is that King Crab from here?" Eriksson asked as she brought her _Highlander_ to a stop on the edge of the cliff, its gauss rifle swinging up to the firing position.

"Just over 100 meters, Sir", Kelly reported, "Well within weapons range..."

"That's not what I had in mind".

Eriksson triggered her jump jets, sending 90 tons of battlemech into the air on a low arc, aimed directly at the _King Crab_. She reached up to flick a switch that activated the _Highlander's_ external speakers. The stirring sound of pipes and drums playing the British Grenadiers, the regiment's ancient quick-march tune, echoed out across the low valley.

The pirate either heard the roar of the music or picked up the _Highlander_ on their sensors, probably both. They tried to torso-twist and bring all their weapons to bear, but couldn't move fast enough and 90 tons of _Highlander _met 100 tons of _King Crab_ at high velocity. The specially reinforced legs and feet of the _Highlander _took the strain, while the back-canted legs of the _King Crab_ could not. Its knee actuators ruptured under the impact and its massive, low wide body crashed into the rocky ground with a noise like a small earthquake.

The force of impact cracked the reactor housing and the emergency containment system shut the fusion plant down before it could go critical.

Eriksson stabbed her mech's sword into the ground, just in front of the pirate's cockpit and cut the music.

"Yield!" she ordered, "Yield or die!"

There was a moment of silence, then the _King Crab's_ cockpit hatch popped open and the pilot emerged, hands held high.

"That was probably not the wisest course of action, sir" Captain Cook pointed out as he brought his Camulus down within arm's reach of the woman he was assigned to protect with his own life, if need be.

"That jump was outside the Highlander's designed range…technically impossible. You could have missed and caused yourself serious damage".

"Don't be such an old woman, Joseph", Eriksson laughed. "I was jumping down from a higher position. That extended my range by a good margin".

"Even so, how am I supposed to act as your bodyguard if I don't know where you are or what you are planning to do?"

"All is for the best in the best of all possible worlds, Captain. Sometimes you have to think on your feet".


	24. Main Objective

_Grenadier Guards LZ  
Pain  
The Periphery  
14th September 3068  
_  
Eriksson stood under the showerhead and let the steaming water wash away the dirt and sweat that had accumulated on her body during the previous 48 hours of near constant combat. She was thankful that one of the first things the engineers had done after the landing zone was secured was set up a shower block so her people could get themselves clean. After her allocated five minutes were up, she grabbed her towel and started to dry herself off as someone else took her place in the stall.

A lifetime in and around the military had taught her to be pragmatic when it came to public nudity. As a result, she had no problem with undressing or showering in front of others. Running her fingers through her short, flame red hair, she looked across at another soldier who was also drying herself.

"Hey, you're one of the Pathfinders, right?" she enquired.

"Yes sir", the other woman nodded. "Sergeant Ophelia Dundee, 2nd Battalion".

"You've seen these pirates up close, what do you make of them?"

"Scum, sir, pure and simple. We rescued some slaves who'd made a break for it. They'd rather have died out here than go on living under the conditions they were facing in the Castle Brian. Some of the things that they told us...let's just say that the JAG might not have much left to work with if they put up any kind of resistance. I hear that the marines you brought with you have a few Berserkers with them?"

"Some", Eriksson nodded. "Some of them transfer out from Wolverine units because they have more chance of seeing combat in the regular army".

"I'd love to see them in action against the pirates", Dundee smiled.

Eriksson could only nod again, trying to picture just what it would be like.

Berserkers were based on Elemental genomes, stolen from the Clans over a hundred years before and enhanced by the Minnesota Tribe to be even more effective foot soldiers. While not much bigger physically, they had enhanced strength and the ability to turn off their pain receivers during combat and their bodies produced higher than normal adrenaline levels. This let them shrug off wounds that would have stopped even an Elemental in their tracks.

It also made them dangerously uncontrollable once they had worked up a battle-fury, but this was considered a reasonable price to pay for their advantages.

Eriksson had seen gun-camera footage from the fighting on Redemption, when an OCDF task force had taken down the harsh and almost insane regime that ruled the under-developed Periphery planet. The solider, it was unclear if it was a man or a woman underneath the battle armour, hadn't even slowed its attack when its left arm was blown clear off by an autocannon round.

It was said that the only defence against a Berserker attack was overwhelming firepower, but the battle-armoured troops had been known to climb over the bodies of their fallen comrades, as if they were taking a stroll in the park. This single-minded tenacity in combat made them the perfect shock-troops and they often acted as a Forlorn Hope, opening a breach in the enemy defences long enough for other units to attack.

It had already been decided that Berserkers would lead the final attack on the pirate stronghold and it would only be a question of how much was left of the defenders when the supporting regiments reached them.

"Yes", Eriksson nodded thoughtfully. "It will be interesting to see them in action..."

* * *

_DropShip Normandy Beach  
OCDF LZ  
Pain  
The Periphery  
15th September 3068  
_  
The main cargo deck of the converted _Overlord_ class dropship was filled with rank after rank of solders, mainly officers and NCOs, but with a few specialists spaced out among them. Eriksson saw that several of the marines had Force Recon badges, indicating that they undergone intensive training, including hostage/prisoner of war rescue. This would make them invaluable in the coming battle.

"Attention!" A senior officer called out, his slabs of muscles and height indicating that he was of Elemental stock, although maybe not trueborn. The more relaxed view the Minnesota Tribe had on trueborns versus freeborns meant that many trueborn warriors had families.

Eriksson smiled, she had known Lieutenant Commander Matteus Godolkin since he was a young and promising Star Commander in the 64th Wolverine Guards. They had faced each other across more than one field of battle during war games and other military exercises, before he'd taken a promotion and transfer to the OCMC. She was thankful that he was the senior ground pounder in the expedition. He knew how to motivate his men and could be trusted to think on his feet during the heat of battle. It only took a glance at his salad bar to see how well he was regarded by High Command and how brave he was in combat.

Paying little attention to what Godolkin was saying, Eriksson drifted to the back of the room so she could observe how the ground pounders reacted. She was standing against a support strut when she had the unmistakable feeling that she was being watched.

"I wouldn't recommend turning round, General", a soft voice whispered in her ear. "The paperwork killing you would generate would take forever to get through".

"Who are you?" Eriksson asked, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

"A friend", the voice answered, so soft that it was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman. "Let's just say that I like to sing late at night".

Despite her best efforts, Erickson felt a shiver run down her spine, as her blood turned to ice water. _'Deep Midnight's Voice…'  
_  
She'd heard rumours of course. You couldn't reach her rank without picking up information above your clearance level. The very existence of Deep Midnight's Voice was one of the most closely guarded secrets in the Outer Colonies, known to only a handful of people outside the organisation. Deep Midnight's Voice was said to be so black it was Ultraviolet, beyond even the Council of Eleven, as elected politicians couldn't be trusted with such knowledge, lest they one day decide to write a book.

Deep Midnight's Voice did all the dark, unpleasant things, needed to keep the Outer Colonies safe and did so with a cool, calm professionalism that would make most peoples' skin crawl if they ever heard of it. There were stories about how they operated, how they could become part of the shadows to the point that they were totally undetectable. A few said that they had access to ultra-advanced Star League era technology, decades beyond what the Clans, ComStar or Word of Blake had. Others said that they practised the mystic arts and performed strange rituals that could make a ship jump into hyperspace, never to be seen again.

When she was younger, Eriksson would have scoffed at such superstitious nonsense, but over the years she had seen things that defied explanation. If anyone could wield such powers, it was Deep Midnight's Voice, the select, total volunteer organisation that you could only join by invitation and leave only by death. They had the authority to kill anyone, even Council members, if they threatened the safety of the Outer Colonies. She was under no illusion that the stranger behind her was completely serious when they said that they would kill her if she even tried to look round.

"I take it from your reaction that you know just who and what I am", the voice continued. "I'm glad, as that will make our relationship much easier. A mutual friend sent me along with this expedition to render any and all assistance needed".

"Are you supposed to be my personal guardian angel?" Erickson asked.

"More an angel of death", the voice almost chuckled. "Now, is there something you would like me to do?"

"We need a map showing the layout of the pirate base. None of our records tally with what the people the Pathfinders rescued told us". Eriksson fixed her gaze on Godolkin. "I don't want to send my people in to what could be a trap if it can be avoided".

"Your wish is my command. I will have it to you by sunrise", the voice replied. "Now, keep looking ahead and pay close attention to what the good Lieutenant Commander is saying. I would hate to have to go through all of this again with your XO..."

Erickson did as she was told, not moving an inch until Godolkin finished his briefing and the soldiers started to file past her.

* * *

_DropShip _Talavera,  
_Pain,  
The Periphery,  
16th September 3068  
_  
"This is going to be messy", Colonel Growling Bear Noonan, CO of the Coldstream Guards looked at the map the cartography team had drawn up from orbital photos and limited ground surveying. "The SLDF engineers sure knew how to build a killing zone outside their bases".

"Ain't that the goddamn truth!" Erickson sighed. "You got a plan in that big old brain of yours, Poppa Bear?"

"It's what they pay me for", Noonan pulled out a coloured marker and leaned in closer to the laminated map. "Ok, the Pathfinders say that the main entrance is here, so that's where the bulk of the defences will be located. We hit that with artillery and air strikes. Some of our omnimechs can be refitted with Arrow IV pods and we can move a couple of our Fortress class dropships into range of their Long Toms". He marked the map carefully, picking out landing zones and firing positions. "Lot of smoke and noise, make them think that we're crazy enough to charge the front door. Meanwhile…" he moved the map across until a small valley was in the middle of the table, "…this is where our guys go in. It looks like an air purification plant. There are static defences covering it, but our sappers can take care of them, no problem".

"I like it", Erickson nodded. "Maybe we should have one of the warships hit the main entrance with a couple of Naval Lasers…real shock and awe stuff?"

"Are you sure you're not part Lakota?" Noonan grinned. "What are the rules of engagement?"

"Take no chances. If they surrender, hogtie them on the spot and move on". Erickson stood, rubbing her back. "If they resist, shoot to kill. Anyone alive at the end will be patched up and handed over to the JAG to deal with".


	25. Luckier Than Some

_Castle Brian,_

_Dry Lake, High Desert,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

In the centre of the chamber, on a raised platform, was a dirty and bloodstained makeshift boxing ring. In fact, it appeared to be little more than old myomer fibres, crudely attached to four metal posts, bolted to the floor, to form an enclosed square, but there was little doubt about the use to which it had been put. Chains and manacles adorned the walls and numerous implements that might have once been used as tools lay scattered about the place. Rusty brown stains on the bare ferrocrete floor and walls told their grim story.

Things only got worse as they began searching the cells. The occupants were men, women and even a small number of children, of varying ages. Some whimpered and cowered as Iversen's troops went from cell to cell, breaking open the doors. Other just sat on the crude beds or the floor with vacant expressions. Other simply lay unconscious, close to death. Nearly all bore marks or wounds of various types. It soon became obvious that, among other things, the prisoners had been beaten, burned and wounded with bladed weapons. Some had even been mutilated. All bore evident signs of malnourishment and none looked as though they'd seen sunlight in over a year. It was small wonder these unfortunates were in such a pitiful state.

Robyn blinked, fighting back the tears that welled up as she took in scene. She noted, with a degree of relief, that she was not the only one so affected. A number of the soldiers were expressing open shock and outrage, although most were carefully concealing their emotions behind masks of grim professionalism, as they tended to the prisoners as best they could.

They'd treated battlefield casualties before, but this was something quite different and infinitely more sinister. Even so, it only took a few moments to overcome their initial shock. Then their training kicked in and they began moving from one prisoner to another, examining them, prioritising them and giving them such treatment as they could in the circumstances. Many would need intensive, long term medical and psychological care to fully recover, but in the meantime, Francis and her medics did the best they could to stabilise their patients.

Iversen's troops assisted the medics in carrying those unable to walk, on the long trip back to the surface, also guiding those who could stand. When they finally reached the surface, some flinched and cowered at the bright light and heat of the sun. Some fell to their knees and began to cry. Others simply gazed up at the sky in wonder.

De Chastelaine stood in the midst of the organised chaos that went on around her, wondering what the hell they were supposed to do. They had captured nearly a hundred pirates and had rescued at least as many prisoners, if not more, from that dank, cold hellhole, far beneath the ground. Even with the infantry carriers and tech support vehicles, they didn't have nearly enough transport for all these people.

"Its no good", she said to herself, "We're going to have to call the St James and get them to send some VTOLs or request shuttles from the Indy".

In an effort to release some of the pent-up tension inside her, she jogged over to the lead APC in the vehicle column that had parked up in the compound. The crews were already getting ready for departure. Peering in through the open rear doors, she spied the radio operator.

"Can you call the St James on that?" she asked, nodding at the radio.

"Sorry ma'am, it doesn't have the range…even without those mountains in the way. We can reach the mobile field base on the other side of the lake though".

"Okay, call them and have someone contact the dropship. Tell them we need every Karnov they can spare ASAP…or better still, two of the Indy's shuttlecraft". She fixed the young soldier with a penetrating stare. "Tell them it's a medical emergency".

The trooper got the message, "Yes, ma'am!"

She ducked back into The Rack's blazing sunshine. Even though it was now late evening, it was still uncomfortably warm and the sky was still a brilliant azure, with only a hint of purple twilight on the horizon.

As she walked back to the fortress, Robyn became aware of a gentle but insistent tugging on her sleeve. She looked down to see a young girl. She recognised the child as one of the survivors from the dungeon. She was maybe ten or twelve, a slight, waif-like figure with dirt-smudged, elfin features and unkempt long blonde hair. Her tattered and dirty dress, that might have once been pale blue, fluttered round her knees in the light winds.

"What is it?" asked Robyn.

The girl did not reply, but continued to tug, pointing in a vaguely easterly direction, towards the rear of the fortress.

"You want me to go there with you?" she asked.

The girl nodded.

As they walked in silence, Robyn began to wish she'd commandeered a jeep. Although the scenery was something to behold, the complex was huge and definitely not designed to be traversed on foot. After a quarter of an hour of scrambling across the island's hills and dips, they came to a large dirt field, filled with row upon row of crudely made wooden crosses – little more than tree branches tied together with string.

It took a moment for the enormity of what she was seeing to sink in; then she let out a gasp, covering her mouth with her hands.

"Oh my god!"

Taking a moment to regain her composure, she stared down at the girl. "Were these other people who were kept here, like you?"

The girl just nodded.

"Is anyone you know here?"

Another nod.

"Your parents…what happened to them?"

The girl took Robyn's hand and led her through the knee-high forest of crosses until they reached one, which had a tattered old teddy bear lying beneath it. The one next to it had a string necklace with pink plastic flowers strung onto it. She knelt beside the girl and stared in mute horror and disbelief, hoping that this might be some horrible dream.

"This is…this is where your Mum and Dad are?" she asked quietly.

The girl nodded again. "They've been here for a long time now", she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

This time Robyn could not hold back the tears. She put her arms around the girl and hugged her tightly as she cried. After a while the girl pulled back and stared at Robyn strangely, her big, pale blue eyes boring into Robyn's tearful green ones. She reached out a dirty hand and wiped de Chastelaine's tear-streaked face.

Robyn gave a sad little laugh, "Look at me", she sniffed, "If anyone has a right to cry, its you".

The girl gave what might have been the barest hint of a smile and threw her arms around Robyn's neck, hugging her with surprising strength. Robyn returned the hug, lifting the girl off her feet and for just a little while, things didn't seem so bad.


	26. Frontal Assault

_Castle Brian,  
Pain,  
The Periphery,  
16th September 3068  
_  
The night sky to the south-west was lit up with bright explosions as the combat sappers edged towards the environmental control bunker. Each soldier was dressed in a stealth suit that was designed to mimic the environmental conditions around them, making them all but invisible on visual or infrared sensors. They crawled forward inch by inch, edging towards the gun and mortar turrets that defended the bunker. Each sapper carried with them a kilo of C-22, three detonators of various types, override cards and a small toolkit.

One by one they disabled the turrets, before moving to the armoured tops of the air purification vents, while others found and took control of the passive and active sensors, fooling them into sending back a looped signal to anyone who might have been keeping tabs, while the diversionary attack took place on the other side of the mountain.

Over a kilometre away, Captain Howlett watched the engineers through the sights of his sniper-rifle. Although he had reached the Distinguished Rifleman grade, he knew in his heart that he wasn't as good as his platoon's assigned long-rifleman. But, he was first and foremost a marine, every marine was a rifleman and he couldn't let his old unit down. Soft footsteps on the broken ground had him reaching for his silenced SMG, but a voice whispered, "Thunder".

"Flash", Howlett countered, keeping his hand on the weapon until the unmistakable shape of a suit of Iconoclast Battle Armour came into sight, the helmet's faceplate raised. "You guys took your time".

"The best laid plans of mice and men", the Elemental shrugged. "Are your people ready?"

"Yes. We go in the moment you have the immediate area secured", Howlett nodded, going back to looking through the night vision scope on his rifle. "We secure the entrance, keep an eye on the prisoners and any slaves we find while you guys press on. The 95th will be coming in behind us to back you up. I'd like to go with you myself, but we're Pathfinders…we're not kitted out for that kind of fighting".

"And we are not trained or equipped for the type of fighting you do", the Elemental nodded. "Ok, let's go!"

* * *

_Castle Brian,  
Pain,  
The Periphery,  
16th September 3068  
_  
_"Men of England stop your dreaming  
Can't you see their spear points gleaming  
See their warrior's pennants streaming  
To this battle field_

_Men of England stand ye steady  
It cannot be ever said ye  
For the battle were not ready  
Guardsmen never yield!_

_From the hills rebounding  
Let this war cry sounding  
Summon all at England's call  
The mighty force surrounding_

_Men of England onto glory  
This shall ever be your story  
Keep these fighting words before ye  
Guardsmen will not yield!"  
_

The massive speakers, mounted on a pair of converted J-27 Ordnance transports, vibrated visibly as they continued to blare out across the low valley towards the pirate base. The basic premise was simple: deprive the opposition of sleep and keep them guessing what you would do next. There was a moment of silence before a new song started, the mournful sound of massed drums and bagpipes shook loose several nearby rock formations.

_"There was a soldier, a Scottish soldier  
Who wandered far away and soldiered far away  
There was none bolder, with good broad shoulders,  
He fought in many a fray and fought and won_

_He's seen the glory, he's told the story  
Of battles glorious and deeds victorious  
But now he's sighing his heart is crying  
To leave these green hills of Tyrol_

_Because these green hills are not highland hills  
Or the Islands hills they're not my lands hills,  
As fair as these green foreign hills may be  
They are not the hills of home..._

_And now this soldier, this Scottish soldier,  
Who wandered far away and soldiered far away  
Sees leaves are falling, and death is calling  
And he will fade away, on that dark land_

_He called his piper, his trusty piper  
And bade him sound a lay, a pibroch sad to play  
Upon a hillside but Scottish hillside  
Not on these green hills of Tyrol_

_And now this soldier this Scottish soldier  
Who wanders far no more, and soldiers far no more  
Now on a hillside, a Scottish hillside  
You'll see a piper play this soldier home_

_He's seen the glory, he's told the story  
Of battles glorious and deeds victorious  
But he will cease now, he is at peace now  
Far from these green hills of Tyrol"  
_  
Colonel Noonan waited until the last line of the final verse, before he gave the order to open fire all guns...


	27. Final Victory

**27. Final Victory**

_Castle Brian  
Pain  
The Periphery  
16th September 3068_

Despite their size, the Elementals moved through the ventilation shafts almost silently, arriving in one of the many plant rooms that serviced the old SLDF base.

On a catwalk far below, one of the pirate techs went about repairing a cracked steam valve. It was hot, messy and tedious work, but it kept him as far away from the main gates as was physically possible, which made him happy. He knew it was only a matter of time before the forces outside charged the defences and he wasn't too sure they could be kept out. Even if they were repelled, there was no way to venture out for supplies, while they were camped out waiting and there was only so much food to go around. Best, perhaps, to look useful, before the higher ups started to cut rations any further. He was so engrossed in his work, that he didn't hear the hatch from the main air shaft swing open, or see the armoured figure slowly slide out until it was holding on by just its armoured battle claws. But only a dead man would fail to notice a tonne and a half of metal, man and myomer landing on the catwalk. The surprised tech spun around and found himself facing a nightmare given form.

The designers had taken their time with the _Iconoclast_ suit, making it as fearsome as they could: the armour plating ad been carefully sculpted to resemble scales, while the head was more reminiscent of a demon than anything else. The suits Improved Sensors were built into two horn-like protrusion that curled down and inwards from the side of the head, the eyes were sunken and backlit with red LED's, while the external speaker was set behind a protective grill that looked like fangs. Standing up until it reached its full 2.5 meters and surrounded by billowing smoke and steam from the machinery, it looked to the tech like the devil himself had come for him. He raised his hands to surrender, forgetting that he was still holding a spot-welding rig that had more than a passing resemblance to a laser pistol. Reacting more on instinct than anything, the Elemental fired it's Firedrake Support Needler: the white-hot polymer shards ripped the unfortunate tech apart before burying themselves in the rock all beyond.

Five more Elementals dropped down and secured the room before signalling to the rest of the assault team that it was safe to descend. Then, stepping over the bloody remains of the tech, they started to fan out into the rest of the complex.

The pirates may have been expecting an attack by regular commandos, but they were woefully unprepared for what they faced. The mix of drugs pumped into the genetically enhanced soldiers turned them into avatars of death, nearly unstoppable killing machines that ignored small arms fire and didn't even pause when one group of pirates managed to get their hands on support weapons. But against a Berserker there was no defence; they had all sworn to fight to the death (preferably their enemies') and were products of the Minnesota Tribe's rigorous _Agoge_ training regime. Taught from birth never to back down and never to surrender - not with the fallen Children of Nicholas, still, hunting for their blood – the motto "Victory or Death" could have been coined for them.

Of all the Wolverines, it was the Berserker, above all others, who embodied the tenacious spirit of their Totem.

From room to room and hallway to hallway, the Berserkers moved like a tide of death, hunting down every last pirate. Those who laid down their arms and offered full and unconditional surrender were bound and left for the following infantry units, while any who resisted were put down, hard and fast. A few pirates barricaded themselves in one of the slave dormitories and threatened to kill their hostages. But sensing a chance for revenge, their human shield turned on them, ripping them apart before the Berserkers could cut through the doors.

It took little over an hour to secure every room, but eventually the base fell.

* * *

_Castle Brian,  
Pain,  
The Periphery,  
17th September 3068_

The artillery strike had devastated the base's outer defences and breached the inner walls in numerous places, allowing the infantry to move in and begin securing the upper levels, keeping the bulk of the pirate forces occupied while the prisoner rescue team began their insertion.

The stench of burnt wiring filled the air as General Erickson stepped through the hatch into what had been the Pirates' command centre.

Engineers were still patching the computer together, while burn-marks on the wall showed just how fierce the battle had been. In all, seven Berserkers had been killed, three times that number injured, as well as a dozen marines who had been caught unaware when one of the slaves they had been escorting out of the base had proven to be a pirate with an improvised incendiary device strapped to her chest. While it hadn't acted as intended, it had sent a wall of flame down the narrow corridors, badly burning anyone in its way.

Pirate casualties had been a lot higher; over a hundred dead and twice that number injured. The survivors had been moved to the slave quarters, under the watchful eyes of the Military Police detachment that had been sent with the strike force. DropShips took off and landed hourly, bringing supplies and much needed equipment, while taking back the treasure trove of Lost-Tech that the pirates had been sitting on.

"Sir, flash-traffic from the _Idun_", the Duty Officer reported. "Multiple contacts at extreme range; intermittent but closing. Commodore Ross has deployed a sensor drone to get a better look".

"Tell him he has my authority to proceed as he sees fit", Erickson nodded, wishing that she was back aboard the Talavera. It had better C3 capacities, and she would have been closer to her Mech.

Not that a BattleMech, even her beloved _Highlander_, would have been much use against warships. But like all MechWarriors, she felt better when she was seated in her command couch, at least able to do something. She hated having to leave others to do her fighting for her.

"I have a bad feeling about this", Colonel Noonan lived up to his given name by growling, "Coyote is on the prowl, I can feel it".

"I was under the impression that Coyote was one of the good-guys?" Erickson asked.

"He's a trickster". The big Lakota warrior shook his head, "Hero today; enemy tomorrow. It is his way".


	28. An Ill Wind

_Office of the Regent, Blenheim Palace,_

_Westminster, Britannia,_

_Britannic Coalition,_

_The Periphery,_

_21 September 3068_

_-_

_-  
_

"So how do you plan on dealing with the insurgents?" asked William Sandringham, reaching across his desk for the large sterling silver teapot and offering his guest a refill, before pouring himself another cup.

"I really don't know", Maxwell D'Avion replied with a heavy sigh, stirring cream and sugar into his tea. "Part of me agrees with my military advisors…"

"Go in hard and stomp them into the dirt…" said William, cutting in.

"Exactly – but another part of me thinks there must be a better way", D'Avion finished with a rueful smile.

"That depends on how you define 'better'".

It transpired that the unrest in the Alliance military had been engineered by small groups of dissidents, most of whom had left backwater worlds on the fringes of the Lyran Commonwealth, hoping to find better lives in the Royalist Alliance. For a time, they had, but then the recession had hit and while citizens in every walk of life were finding life tougher, it seemed the former Lyrans were having a particularly rough time of it. In many ways it was understandable, as the majority of Alliance citizens could trace their roots back to the Federated Suns and a clash of cultures was inevitable, especially with echoes of the FedCom Civil War still being felt.

The dissidents had begun calling for their own homeworld and independence, wanting to secede from the Alliance. If it had been limited to just the one faction, it may have been possible to meet their demands, but then other groups had sprung up, from seemingly out of nowhere, each with their own agenda. Strikes, protests and civil disobedience had followed, quickly bringing anarchy to nearly half the worlds of the Alliance. Things had taken a sinister turn when some of the more militant rebels had begun resorting to acts of sabotage and guerrilla attacks on government property. Divisions had also appeared in the RAAF, with some units sympathising with the rebels and refusing to take action against them.

"I would define 'better' as the solution which results in the least bloodshed", Maxwell responded firmly, fixing his host with a determined expression.

Sandringham nodded in appreciation. While his friend was no pushover, he was a fervent believer that violence should only be used as a last resort and often went to great lengths to avoid conflict.

"I won't argue with that Max, but I don't see how you can negotiate settlements with all these factions. Surely you risk fragmenting the Alliance that way?"

"That's my biggest fear", admitted D'Avion. He turned his gaze to stare out of one of the office's large windows, taking in the autumnal beauty of the city park, which lay opposite Blenheim Palace.

"My predecessors built up the Alliance from scratch, one planet at a time, over three centuries". He turned his gaze on William once again. "I'll be damned if I see it fall apart…not on my watch!"

Sandringham rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Historically, when faced with a large scale rebellion, rulers have often made an example of a small number of rebels, to scare the rest back into line".

D'Avion nodded. "I know…the problem is, it sometimes just made the rebels all the more determined. If that happened, we could end up facing an all out civil war of our own".

Just then there was a discreet knock on the door and one of the Palace aides entered from an adjoining office. He padded quickly and quietly over to the Regent's desk and handed over an electronic notepad.

"Latest update from the Britannia Guards' anti-pirate operation, sir"

William thanked the man and waited until he'd left, before activating the notepad and entering his personal decryption code. All sensitive files were encrypted as a matter of course, as part of standard security procedures.

The report was concise, as military briefing documents tended to be and William took only a few minutes to read it. He nodded approvingly and handed the notepad over to Maxwell.

"Some good news at least. It seems the pirates put up a tougher fight than we were expecting, but our forces on The Rack report a successful conclusion to the operation. Losses are heavier than predicted but our units are still mostly intact and morale is high. They also discovered a veritable treasure trove of salvage at the pirates' base – an old, abandoned Castle Brian apparently and they also rescued a number of prisoners".

Several minutes of silence followed, as he allowed Maxwell to read the report for himself.

"Seems you also made some new friends", said D'Avion, glancing up at Sandringham and smiling. "We've bumped into the Outer Colonies a few times on Hunter's Paradise – usually merchants or warships looking to repair or re-supply".

"Seems they could be very useful allies. Just reading their report of the action on Pain gave me chills".

Max continued to scan the document. "Good Lord...you're not kidding! I wouldn't have minded watching that…from a safe distance".

He handed the notepad back. "They tend to keep to themselves, have access to advanced technology, but don't share it and if the rumours I've heard are true, they probably have intel assets watching both our realms".

Maxwell laughed at Sandringham's alarmed expression. "Don't worry. As I said, they're fairly insular and don't go looking for fights. They are fairly paranoid when it comes to security though and they like to keep tabs on everyone, regardless of whether they view you as a threat or not. As you've found out, if they think you're a worthy ally, they can be very good friends to have".

D'Avion laughed again when he saw Sandringham still didn't look entirely convinced.

There was another knock on the door and the aide reappeared, walking even quicker than he had before, his normally neutral expression replaced with one of grave concern.

"I'm sorry Regent, but you need to see this immediately".

Sandringham glanced up questioningly, surprised by the other man's lack of discretion.

"Its a Flash Priority Alpha message from one of our naval assets in the Wellington sector..." he trailed off, unwilling to say more with a guest present.

This time William didn't wait for the aide to leave, instead punching in his access code and beginning to read.

From across the desk, Maxwell D'Avion saw his friend's face take on a look of shock.

Finished, Sandringham slid the notepad across the desk, so his friend could read the message. "Since this involves your realm also, I think its only right you see this".

"Your orders, sir?" asked the aide, who had remained at his shoulder.

"Contact Precentor Jackson and have him call a meeting of the Joint Chiefs..."

"Ah...he's already arranging it, sir", the aide cut in.

"Very well, send a Priority Alpha dispatch to all the planetary governors. Tell them to clear their schedules and prepare for a trip to Ripley IV. I want an emergency session of the Security Council in progress by the end of tomorrow".

"Very well, sir".

When William glanced over at D'Avion again, he saw the Prince of the Royalist Alliance looking pale and worried. "As much as I've enjoyed this visit, Will, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take my leave of you immediately. God, as if the insurgents weren't enough of a problem..."

"Of course, I'll have my personal bodyguards escort you and your people to the spaceport".

* * *

_Dropship _St James_,_

_Britannia Guards' Field Base,_

_High Desert, Southern Continent,  
_

_The Rack, __The Periphery,_

_24 September 3068_

_-_

_-  
_

Demi-Precentor O'Reilly stood at the bridge communications console, listening intently to the report coming in from the mobile field base, set up near the ancient Star League fortress. Her arms were by her sides, her hands balled into white-knuckled fists. She unconsciously chewed her lower lip as the awful news came in from the mobile field base.

"Ma'am, Demi-Precentor de Chastelaine reports they've found a graveyard towards the rear of the compound. One of the survivors pointed it out to her. She estimates over fifty people have been buried there. It seems that when Hopper Morrison visited, he liked his subordinates to put on a show for him".

The radio operator broke off for a moment and Keira could hear him composing himself before delivering the next part of the message. "They drew names from an old neurohelmet and the chosen prisoners were made to fight each other…sometimes to the death but more often until one was incapacitated. Apparently those who survived the fights often died later of their injuries". His voice faltered and O'Reilly could tell he was struggling again. Her hand went to her mouth and she blinked as she felt her own eyes watering.

"Afterwards, the others were made to bury the dead…I'm sorry ma'am", he apologised, as he almost choked on his words. "Blake's Blood…these are some really sick bastards. I hope the OCDF are really sticking it to them on Pain!" he said vehemently.

O'Reilly nodded silently in agreement. "Amen to that, Acolyte. Tell Demi-Precentor de Chastelaine that four Karnovs will be diverted immediately for the transfer of the survivors. We'll make them comfortable until the Indy's shuttles can take them off-planet".

Her voice took on a grim tone as she considered the fate of the captured pirates. "Afterwards, suitable arrangements will be made for the transfer and accommodation of the prisoners". As she cut the link, she wondered briefly if she could talk Precentor Arden into putting the pirates on trial, for crimes against humanity.

In a tradition that dated back to the age of sail-powered ships on Terra, Coalition navy officers, from the rank of Demi-Precentor upwards, had the power to conduct legal proceedings against captured enemies, in situations where normal legal systems did not apply, or were unavailable.

In a situation like this, where the enemy in question belonged to no recognised faction to whom they could be delivered, to have justice served on them, it seemed appropriate. They were also a long way from Coalition space and conducting a trial via HPG uplink would have been ludicrously slow.

She walked slowly back to her command post, taking deep breaths to compose herself. All in all, her temporary command of the Guards had gone as well as could be expected. The prisoners brought in by Demi-Precentor Donohue, were already cooling their heels in the _Indefatigable's_ brig. The pirate mechs deemed worth salvaging had been loaded onto the _St James_ and her two sister ships. The withdrawal had begun, with III Bravo and the remnants of III Alpha having boarded the _Spitfire_ and _City of_ _London_, several hours ago. The enigmatic Captain Jerricho and her Coyote Cavaliers were still performing sentry duty, awaiting the return of III Gamma, as well as the infantry and support units.

Best of all had been the latest news from the _Indy._ Precentor Bainbridge's condition appeared to have stabilised and given time, it looked as though he would make a full recovery.

She was just about to take her seat when the communications officer called to her again. "Ma'am, I've got Precentor Arden on a secure channel – she needs to speak with you immediately".

O'Reilly sighed wearily. "Okay, put her though to my quarters. I'll take it there". Forcing herself to move with some semblance of urgency, she made her way from the bridge, out into the passageway and down the access ladder to the deck below, where her small, spartan cabin was located. Locking the door behind her, she saw a green light blinking on the room's com unit and hit the button to activate it.

"O'Reilly here".

"Keira, we've just received a Priority One HPG transmission from Command". The urgency in Arden's voice told Keira it was bad news, though she couldn't imagine what it could be. Nevertheless, her stomach tightened as she braced herself for an unpleasant surprise.

"Five days ago, three unidentified warships jumped into the Wellington system and disabled the frigate Athena. Shortly afterwards, a large assault force landed on planet's northern continent and began pushing towards the capital. They brushed aside the 92nd Division's III Bravo, almost as though they weren't there. III Alpha engaged them and managed to stall their advance, but they were eventually forced to withdraw towards Taunton. Precentor Commander Jackson authorised two Divisions to be redeployed from Britannia and it seems they may have got there in time to stop the Lancers being overrun, but communications were lost with the planet shortly after…HPG probably got hit. They, along with the remaining Lancers, are all that's standing in the way of a complete collapse. In the meantime, the 210th Division is being redeployed from St Helens to provide cover for the capital in their absence".

O'Reilly listened, numb with shock, as the awful details unfolded. The gravity of Arden's tone told her the warship commander shared her sense of anger and helplessness. Keira wondered if she was also experiencing the gut-wrenching sickness of her planetside counterpart. Arden had been a junior Adept in the Com Guard fleet before the Word of Blake invasion of Terra. Maybe the experience of losing one planet had made her more realistic about the possibility of losing another.

"What are our orders?" she asked, her body operating almost on autopilot, while her mind tried to come to terms with the news.

"Well, based on the intel they're getting at the moment, Command believes we can expect strikes against other worlds, so besides mobilising all our front line units and planetary militia forces, they're recalling the Indy and the Guards with immediate effect".

"But we're over two hundred light years away! How can they expect us to return in time to be of any use?"

"I've already checked the star charts. If we cut right through the Rim Worlds and skip through the Royalist Alliance, we can be back in Coalition space in two months, maybe six weeks if we plot our jumps right".

Keira shook her head. "If we'd done that on the way here, we'd have been finished and halfway home by now".

"True, but we needed the element of surprise. There's no guarantee we'd have gone unnoticed, had we taken that shortcut. According to intel, the pirates had friends in the Rim Worlds who might've alerted them to our presence and the Alliance is in turmoil right now…no telling what a visit from us might have done".

Keira sighed again in acknowledgement. "So what does our schedule look like?"

There was a pause as Arden ran over the details in her head. "I want to jump out by midnight tomorrow, local time. The Indy's been pretty well in a constant state of readiness since we arrived here, but I know you've got your troops scattered around the locality. Can you recall them that soon without compromising the mission?"

"Yes, we're almost done here, but it'll take a while to get all our people and gear stowed and ready to go. We've also got more prisoners and the survivors from the base. Have you got room for additional passengers?"

Arden gave a sigh of her own. _'Great, that'll just hold up our departure all the more'_. Still, they couldn't just leave them here, much as the though appealed to her. "I'll send both shuttles to transfer them and I'll alert the marines to expect more guests. So, can you be ready in…" there was a pause as she checked her chronometer, "Eighteen hours?"

O'Reilly thought for a moment. "It'll be tight, but yes, I think we can".

As Arden cut the link, she stared grimly at the holotank in the middle of the _Indy's_ bridge. When the Blakists had attacked Terra, a little over ten years ago, the few ships the Com Guard fleet had had in the Sol system were either mothballed or in spacedock for maintenance. She'd been a junior officer on one of the ships in dock. She could still remember the feeling of helplessness she and the rest of the crew had felt as they'd watched the jumpships materialise in-system on their sensors, then watched the swarm of dropships burn their way towards Terra. She made a silent vow that they would make it back in time, even if she had to fight through every system between here and the Coalition.


	29. Bittersweet Victory

_Castle Brian,_

_Dry Lake, High Desert,_

_Southern Continent, The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

Demi-Precentor de Chastelaine shielded her eyes with one hand and squinted as the _Karnov_ took off in a cloud of dust, ferrying the last of the survivors to the Guards' landing zone on the Dead Sea Plains. The little girl, whose name turned out to be Rebecca, was with them. At first, she hadn't wanted to leave the Coalition officer's side, but when Robyn had offered to let her ride in her mech's jump seat, she'd cowered at the sight of the 70-ton _Taurus Prime_ and had eventually agreed to ride in the transport VTOL with the others.

Looking across the compound to where the remaining captive pirates were being held, she felt her stomach twist with revulsion and hatred. She'd had half a mind to make them do a forced march back to the landing site, but they didn't have the time to spare and so Iversen's troops would stand guard over them until the VTOLs returned for them.

In the gathering dusk, the fortress loomed ominously behind her. Although eager to be leaving, she felt a pang of sadness. There was still much to discover about this remote outpost and now that the pirate threat had been dealt with, a research and recovery mission would be sent here at some future date. Now, it appeared they had a much deadlier threat to face. Demi-Precentor O'Reilly had relayed the full text of the HPG transmission, ordering the Guards' immediate recall, less than an hour ago. The thought of Coalition worlds under attack from unidentified forces, who seemed able to brush aside their defences with ease, terrified her, yet made her more determined to face them and conquer them. The news that it would take over a month to reach Coalition space, even using the _Indy's_ lithium fusion batteries to make consecutive jumps, only added to her feelings of helplessness and frustration. She prayed fervently that they would return in time to make a difference.

She walked slowly across the large open space in front of the fortress, that at one time might have served as a parade ground, to where she and her command unit had parked their mechs. Her fellow mechwarriors walked with her in a loose group, each lost in their own thoughts, as they prepared for the journey back. In the semi-darkness, The Rack's stark desert landscape took on a strange kind of beauty, enhanced by the purple twilight sky, with just a thin band of orange on the horizon. A small yellow moon glowed faintly in the darkening sky and a sprinkling of stars completed the effect, looking like strands of fairy lights wound carelessly on a Christmas tree. The cool breeze, which caressed her face and neck, ruffling her long chestnut hair, intensified slightly as she climbed the rope ladder that hung from her _Taurus_' cockpit.

She paused as she reached the cockpit, both to savour the cool evening air just a little longer and to take one last look around. The place was largely empty now, as soldiers, mechwarriors, medics and engineers alike, headed back to the dropships. Once the _Karnovs_ returned to collect the remaining prisoners, this outpost would be left alone with its ghosts. She shivered as she remembered the rows of graves in that secluded, sandy plot of land on the opposite side of the island.

Somewhat reluctantly, she climbed into the cockpit, reeling in the rope ladder and closing the canopy. She retrieved her neurohelmet from the shelf above the command couch, pushing her hair back, before settling it on her head. Strapping herself in with the 5-point harness, she then attached the bio-med sensor pads to her upper arms and thighs and plugged her neurohelmet's cables into their respective sockets. Finally, she attached the coolant hose to the port on her cooling vest, before hitting the master control button that brought the mech's fusion reactor online and booted the main computer.

"Pattern check, Robyn de Chastelaine", she said, once her primary display told her the boot-up sequence was complete.

"Voice pattern match confirmed, proceed with initiation sequence", came the electronic voice of the computer after a few moments.

"Coeur, honneur et noblesse", she replied, speaking in the native tongue of her ancestors. Her family still spoke French, but usually only at private family occasions. The words required careful pronunciation and if not voiced correctly, the computer would lock the machine down.

"Authorisation confirmed, all systems released to your control", responded the computer. "Welcome aboard Robyn, lets go kick some ass".

By way of visual confirmation, the battle computer hummed into life. Additional graphics on her HUD and lights on the control console lit up, telling her the mech's weapon systems were now on-line.

As always, the greeting her tech had programmed into the computer brought a small smile to her face.

"Not this time, old girl...this time, we're going home", she murmured to herself.

With the reactor's low hum just audible through her neurohelmet, her instrument panels confirming all systems nominal and sensors registering a clear field, she slowly pushed the throttle forward, instinctively bracing her body as the 70-ton _Taurus_ began to move. She paused as she made her way out of the compound, to let some vehicles pass. The faint sound of rotors and blinking lights in the darkening sky, told her the VTOLs were returning for the last of the prisoners.

She knew she ought to feel happy about a job well done, of her unit having completed their first ever deployment, performing above and beyond expectations, but the memory of those graves made the victory seem hollow and meaningless.

She shook her head and frowned. The main aim of this mission had been to eliminate the pirate threat that had been declared a clear and present danger to their allies, the Royalist Alliance. _Which is what we've done…we can't save everyone_, she told herself.

Pausing at the compound entrance, she thumbed the hat switch on her joystick, accessing the rearview camera, to check the others were following her, before activating her radio and selecting the pre-set channel for the mobile field base at the lake's edge, where the rest of III Gamma waited.

"Iceni Lead to Base, we are heading back. Break camp and prepare to return to the dropships. I want everyone ready to go by the time we get back".

"Three Gamma to prepare for immediate departure, aye ma'am", replied the radio operator.

Normally she could have simply used the unit's command channel, but since most of the pilots would be out of their mechs, save those on patrol, that wasn't an option.

Robyn smiled as she cut the link, imagining the frantic activity that would ensue.

Looking east towards the hastily repaired bridge, she decided not to risk crossing and instead began making her way down the island's steep, rocky sides, using her jump jets. The other three, whose mechs were not equipped with jump jets, followed more slowly.

The rest of the journey passed in something of a haze, the trek across the dry lake, the brief period of chaos as they rendezvoused with the rest of III Gamma, the long march through the mountains and across the Dead Sea Plains, all merged into a blurred daydream.

De Chastelaine was shaken from her reverie by the insistent beeping of her mech's sensor suite as, one by one, it picked up a host of friendly contacts. Gazing into the distance, she could pick out the cluster of lights that denoted the Guards' field base. Using her HUD's magnifier, she could make out the faint grey outlines of the Guards' three _Overlord_ dropships, only just visible against the dark horizon.

A few hundred metres further on and they were greeted by almost-friendly challenges from the Cavaliers' patrol lance. After identifying herself and her unit, they were allowed to pass, with the mercenary mechs forming up behind them, maintaining a discreet distance.

* * *

_BCS_ Indefatigable,

_Geosynchronous Orbit,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

"Sir! Incoming transmission from the OCS Odin" the _Indy's_ communications officer called across the bridge.

Precentor Arden looked up with a start, having been lost in contemplation of the news from home. "Audio or visual?" she asked, slightly surprised. Evidently the Coalition weren't the only ones to favour installing HPGs on their warships.

"Visual, sir. Sending the file across to your station now".

An icon lit up on one of the displays on her console, indicating a message was ready to be viewed. Arden tapped a key and a window opened up on the screen. The face of Captain Elizabeth Gideon, the Odin's commander filled the window.

"Greetings, Precentor Arden. I hope this communication finds you well. By the time this reaches you, we will have left the Pain system. I would have liked to meet up again, so we could say farewell in person, but Commodore Ross has ordered us to investigate some unusual activity on one of our major shipping routes to Hunter's Paradise. I wanted to inform you our fighter patrols located three jumpships, used by the Predators, recharging their KF drives around Pain's sun. Since we used a pirate jump point to make our insertion, we didn't pick them up on our arrival. If you haven't already, I would suggest you have your fighters recon your system's star. Ours put up quite a fight and we ended up destroying one before the other two surrendered. I hope you received a copy of our after-action report…perhaps we'll be able to compare notes sometime. It was a pleasure working with you. Good luck and clear skies…Gideon, out".

The screen went blank momentarily, before being replaced with the insignia of the Outer Colonies' navy.

Arden turned to her comms officer. "Contact Demi-Precentor Powell. I want a flight of fighters to recon the star's zenith and nadir jump points. They're looking for jumpships but warn them they may be heavily armed".

"Aye, sir".

* * *

_Corsair CSR-V12, _

_On approach to FV class star,_

_Pain System,_

_The Periphery_

"Contacts, bearing Two Eight One, Two Niner Eight and Zero One Seven, distance nine thousand, thirteen thousand and seventeen thousand kilometres!" called Acolyte Saunders, pilot of the lead fighter in the formation.

"I see 'em", responded Acolyte Ayres, holding station a hundred metres off Saunders' port wing in Alpha Two. "Computer ID's them as two Merchant class and one Tramp class jumpship".

"Heat signatures on all three increasing – looks like they've spotted us and are trying to do a runner".

Adept Owen Reece, commander of Alpha Flight and holding position on the right side of the inverted V formation, activated his radio, selecting a wideband channel. "Pirate jumpships, this is Adept Reece of the Britannic Coalition warship Indefatigable. I am under orders to obtain your surrender by any means necessary. If our sensors detect you attempting to jump out of the system, we will open fire. Please acknowledge and state your compliance".

Several moments passed without response from any of the vessels. Using his HUD's zoom function, he zeroed in on the closest jumpship. Even at maximum magnification it still appeared as little more than a greyish-white cylinder. He could however, discern enough detail to make out that it's giant sail, used to collect energy radiated by the star, was slowly retracting into it's storage hold in the vessel's stern. The slender cables that attached it to the ship and carried the power to the jumpship's batteries were completely invisible at this range.

Saunders' voice came over his headset. "Looks like they're not going to play ball, sir".

"I wish I could say I was surprised. Okay Alpha Flight, throttles to maximum – we can't let these bastards give us the slip".

The six _Corsair_ fighters accelerated towards the distant, still-stationary jumpships, closing the distance in a little over fifteen minutes. Reece repeated his message to stand down twice more, but was met each time with silence.

By the time they were in visual range, the nearest _Merchant_ had completed the recovery of its sail and was using its manoeuvring thrusters to guide it into position to make a jump. The second _Merchant_ and the _Tramp_ had almost completed the recovery of their sails.

Reece activated his radio again. "Okay people, they're ignoring verbal warnings, lets see if a shot across their bows will grab their attention".

He called up the vessels' stats from the computer's database, for all the good that would do. There was no telling what kind of refitting the pirates might have done. According to their respective files, the Merchants were unarmed, save for a meteorite defence system, while the Tramp carried a number of extended range large and medium lasers.

"Alpha Lead to Three and Four, head for the nearest Merchant and let them know we mean business. They should have no major weaponry but be careful – the pirates may have made some modifications to them. Warning shots only unless you are fired upon. Five and Six, head for the second Merchant – same rules of engagement. Two – you're with me. We're taking on the Tramp".

Reece waited for the other four fighters to break formation and head to their respective targets, before speaking to his wingmate again. "She carries a number of extended range lasers, so don't get too cocky. If they decide to put up a fight, try to aim for the weapon ports. She'll be a sitting duck so it shouldn't be that hard".

Owen Reece's caution was well founded. As Alphas Three and Four approached the nearest jumpship, they were met with a flurry of laser fire. It was mostly inaccurate and those shots that did land, caused only superficial damage to the well-armoured _Corsairs_. However, it startled the pilots sufficiently that they instinctively returned fire. The second surprise came when the fighters' paired large lasers failed to burn straight through the jumpship's supposedly paper-thin armour.

Reece listened to the radio chatter and his pilots' repeated orders to the jumpship crew to stand down, with a sinking heart. In the end, even with its upgrades, the vessel was no match for two well-armed aerospace fighters. It was torn apart by internal explosions, as the _Corsairs'_ lasers penetrated the fuel tanks for the ship's manoeuvring thrusters.

Fortunately, Alphas Five and Six met with total success. After witnessing the fate of their comrades on the other ship, the crew of the second _Merchant_ surrendered unconditionally.

Returning to his own target, he saw the _Tramp_ had finished recovering its sail. Its manoeuvring thrusters began firing to carry it away from the rapidly approaching fighters. Checking his weapons were online, he loosed off a volley from his fighter's nose-mounted large lasers, aiming just ahead of the jumpship's bow, hoping to make them stop.

The response was a haphazard volley of laser fire from the _Tramp_, with several shots hitting his _Corsair's_ fuselage and wings. Reece braced himself and tightened his grip on the controls as his craft lurched and shuddered under the barrage.

His wingmate fired her weapons, destroying one of the jumpship's weapon ports. Slowing and accelerating, looping and weaving around the slow-moving jumpship, the fighters inflicted extensive but controlled damage on the _Tramp_, whilst giving the pirate gunners very few opportunities to hit back. It wasn't long before they realised the futility of their actions and ceased fire, cutting the thrusters and allowing the long, slender vessel to drift slowly.

Reece activated his radio, selecting the channel that put him in touch with the _Indy's_ Flight Controller. "Alpha Lead to Control, we found three pirate jumpships in solar recharge orbit. They put up a fight and we lost one but the other two have surrendered. You are now clear to send shuttles over with salvage crews. We'll maintain station until the vessels are secured".

"Control to Alpha Lead, copy that. Shuttles en route".


	30. Homeward Bound

_Dropship _St George,

_Britannia Guards' Landing Zone,_

_High Desert, Southern Continent,_

_The Rack,_

_The Periphery_

The Guards' senior officers had assembled in the _St George's_ wardroom, normally used for entertaining guests and other social occasions. However, on this occasion, the mood was sombre and the only drinks in evidence were water and fruit juice. Precentor Bainbridge's seat at the head of the long table remained empty, Keira O'Reilly taking her usual place on the right. Demi-Precentors Donohue and de Chastelaine sat opposite her. Filling the other places were the eighteen Level II unit commanders. A third of them had received field promotions after their unit commanders had been killed in action and were easy to spot from their nervous fidgeting.

O'Reilly took a sip of water and stood, her mind finalising the short speech she had been rehearsing for the last hour. She surveyed the table with a welcoming smile. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your attendance. The main purpose of this meeting is to debrief you, following our operation against the pirates and to inform you of our new orders".

"First of all, I'd like to start with some good news. The Indy's chief medical officer has reported Precentor Bainbridge is on his way to making a full recovery, though it will be some time before he pilots a mech again".

This was greeted with muted cheers from everyone present.

"The St James' medical team, as well as those on the Spitfire and City of London have reported all casualties are responding well to treatment, although some will be taking an extended break from active service".

There were more smiles and nods of relief. It appeared that, although equipment losses had been quite high, the human cost of their first deployment had been mercifully low.

One of the Adepts raised a hand. "That's excellent news ma'am, but a great many people, including myself, are wondering what is to happen to the prisoners?"

Another, seated opposite him, followed suit. "And what of the survivors we rescued from the base? How are we going to reunite them with their families if we're headed straight back to the Coalition?"

Keira took another swig of water and nodded acknowledgement of their questions. She tried to remind herself that these young officers were still on something of a high from coming safely through their first major combat assignment. She was also pleased to note the concern for those who had suffered at the pirates' hands.

"I was going to address those points next", she said, injecting just a hint of displeasure into her voice to remind them of proper protocol during staff meetings. Their sheepish looks told her they'd got the message.

"Our one and only stop on the way home is going to be at Hunters' Paradise, where we will contact the OCDF liaison and request they take our prisoners into custody. Although Precentor Arden technically has the authority to conduct criminal proceedings, given the nature of our new orders, we simply cannot afford the time such an undertaking would require. If the Outer Colonies will not take them, we will simply keep them imprisoned aboard the Indy until we return home and deliver them into the capable hands of our own judicial system".

She paused to collect her thoughts. "As to the people we rescued from the base, many are still too critical to be moved and they will have to remain with us, until they are well enough to be repatriated".

"What's our supply situation? We surely won't have enough to last the trip back with all these extra people, will we?" piped up a female officer.

O'Reilly frowned at the interruption. "We're going to be taking some short-cuts on the way back and we'll be making full use of the Indy's lithium fusion batteries to double-jump through as many systems as possible. Precentor Arden estimates we can cut the journey time to as little as six weeks".

She held her hands up to forestall any further questions. "It won't be entirely without risks. Precentor Arden has warned that lithium fusion batteries are not designed for sustained use. However, for reasons that will become clear shortly, it is imperative that we return to the Coalition with all possible haste. The people we rescued will be put in temporary accommodation on our return, until we can secure passage for them on civilian jumpships, back to their homeworlds".

She took another deep breath and her expression became grave. "Now, for the reason we're in such a hurry. A little over four hours ago, a Priority Alpha HPG transmission was received from Command".

She paused for a moment, wondering how to break the news, before deciding to just tell it as simply and clearly as possible. "A week ago, the Coalition came under attack by unidentified forces. Specifically, they've targeted Wellington, attacking our naval forces, before setting down outside Glastonbury. They've hit the Lancers pretty hard and were last reported pushing south to Taunton. The Halifax Hussars and Regent's Own made planet-fall three days ago but Wellington's main HPG went off-line shortly afterwards and no further reports have been received. Further attacks are expected".

Keira looked around the table, noting the uniformly wide-eyed, open-mouthed expressions of shock. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that greeted the announcement.

"According to the navy, whoever these people are, they arrived in system with a small but powerful fleet. One of our destroyers tried to intercept them and was crippled…though not before getting a warning off and a description of the vessels".

She paused again, still having difficulty in assimilating the information herself.

"If the reports are correct, the enemy entered the Wellington system with a Potemkin dropship carrier, a McKenna battleship, a pair of Essex class destroyers and a Lola III". She gave them a moment to absorb that information.

"I'm reliably informed by Precentor Arden, they carry more firepower than the Coalition navy has in any of its four flotillas. The Potemkin alone can transport five Divisions' worth of troops…that's about half our total front line forces".

There was a protracted pause as everyone took time to mull over the information and tried to estimate the BCAF's chances of fighting off the invaders.

O'Reilly shook everyone from their thoughts by planting her glass down on the table loudly, making a few of them jump. "There'll be plenty of time for reflection on the trip home. Right now, what I need from each and every one of you, is to get your units in the best fighting shape they've ever been in. Have your techs and pilots work on their mechs until they know every square centimetre and the status of every system like the backs of their hands. I want to see the Indy's simulators worked overtime, running every offensive and defensive scenario in their databanks. Be careful though. We need our troops to be in the best shape of their lives, both physically and psychologically…we don't want them to start suffering from burnout. Make sure they get their rest too".

She stared round the table, making eye contact with each of them. "We've got six to eight weeks to recover, rebuild and improve our capabilities. I'm relying on you to make sure we're ready to do our part, when the time comes…dismissed".

There was an outbreak of subdued murmuring as the men and women, who, between them, commanded the Britannia Guards, pushed their chairs back, stood and made their way from the mess hall. Only Donohue and de Chastelaine remained. Patrick was the one to voice the question which had been on everyone's lips, but which had gone unspoken.

"Do you really think six to eight weeks is going to be enough time?" he asked.

"More to the point", interrupted Robyn, "Will there be anything left to fight for by the time we get back?"

Keira returned Patrick's steady gaze, her large emerald eyes glowing as they reflected light from the overhead fluorescent lamps. "It has to be, Pat", she said simply, "That's all the time we have".

She turned to de Chastelaine. "We can't think too much about that. If we start worrying about what's going on back home, it'll undermine our preparations. The troops won't be able to concentrate properly…morale and discipline will crumble. As I said, it's up to us to keep them focused, combat-ready and in good spirits. It's the only way we'll have a chance…"

With just six hours until Precentor Arden's deadline, the four dropships carrying the Guards and the mercenaries' transport, lifted off from the rock and scrub-littered desert, their engines glowing brightly in the darkening sky. According to the _St George_'_s_ pilot, they would rendezvous with the _Indefatigable_ with four hours to spare, before heading homeward, towards an uncertain future...

**THE END**

**(Look out for A Friend In Need II, which chronicles the invasion of the Coalition)**


End file.
